


Fallen Shadow

by Mistflyer1102



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Amnesia, Established Relationship, M/M, Post-Skyfall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-15
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2017-11-25 14:31:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 40
Words: 158,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/639844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mistflyer1102/pseuds/Mistflyer1102
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For six months, he's known that he's been missing three years of his life.</p><p>Those three years may mean the difference between life and death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_“I think I’m drowning, asphyxiated, I wanna break this spell, that you’ve created…”_

The music is piping through a hidden speaker, somewhere in the desolate, darkened command center.  He doesn’t quite have the time to look for it because he still has plenty of information to sort through… once he actually gets to it.  He’s also monitoring two double – oh agents as they tear through the bunker, removing the last of the remaining henchmen that the latest threat to MI6 left behind.

They know nothing about the new elusive terrorist leader.  Calling himself ‘The Riddler’, he’d sent a pipe bomb disguised as a care package to the SIS headquarters with the sole intent of shaking the sense of newfound security that MI6 had been enjoying up until that point.  Riddler hadn’t seemed to care that he left telltale marks on the box that led MI6 to the underground bunker in Paris, situated neatly directly underneath the Eiffel Tower. 

Then the Riddler left them a surprise in the form of TNT in the bunker.  It was rigged to the computer networks; one hack in and the entire place would go up in smoke.  No one knew the extent of the tunnel system, but since it was directly smack dab in the middle of a crowded civilian area, that meant it was imperative that there were no explosions.

Agent 007 had taken personal offense when M kept him off the mission, leaving the task of disarming the TNT to Agents 001 and 002. 

 _“What is that in the background anyway?”_ he asks, his voice full of static in the earpiece.

“Music.  I’m sorry if it offends your personal tastes, but I’m a little too busy right now to do anything about it,” he replies, not looking away from the center’s main computer as he keeps part of his attention on 001’s and 002’s progress on the laptop he’d brought with him.  It sounds like the two of them are having a little _too_ much fun, if the comm chatter is anything to go by. 

“ _I should be there,”_ 007 finally grumbles over the link.  “ _Your minions are boring.”_

“They’re just exercising a fair amount of caution around you, as they should,” he replies calmly, a smile flickering across his face as he finally cracks the second – to – last layer of security around the mainframe, which had been protected by a riddle.  Predictably, the answer is the password.  The Riddler lives up to expectations by choosing tricky ones, but he’s still frustrated because he knows he could finish this sooner if he just _hacked_ into the damn system.  He dares not though; there’s no way to determine the exact amount of TNT down here.  “But in all fairness, this is just a reverse of what we usually do,” he finally says in an attempt to soothe his companion.

 _“Not really, Q.  Usually, you’re telling_ me _what to do.  Something I only tolerate on the field,_ ” comes the response, laced with slight irritation. 

He can’t hold a smile back this time.  “So you make up for it in the bedroom?” he asks, double – checking that his link with 001 and 002 is separate from this one with 007; this would be one conversation he doesn’t want to share.

“ _I didn’t hear you complaining the night before you left._ ”

“That’s because my mouth was otherwise occupied at the time,” he replies with a faint smile that he knows 007 can’t see.  “Now shush, I’m trying to work.”

 _“You always talk to me when I work._ ”

“That’s because I _have_ to talk to you, I’m the one who keeps you out of trouble most of the time.  And I have two other agents to babysit as well as ten more riddles to figure out,” he says, watching as the first of ten riddles appear on the large screen in front of him.  He glances at his laptop to make sure that 001 and 002 aren’t having much trouble with disabling the TNT; he can hear the pair muttering to each other in French as they finish disabling that particular batch before leaving that storage area.  Most of the Riddler’s former henchmen have either disappeared or died, so 001 and 002 are walking unchallenged through the corridors now. 

_It’s almost too quiet._

“Stay on your guard, gentlemen.  Something doesn’t quite feel right,” he says into the headset’s microphone.  Even the command center, although empty save for him and the two corpses of the previous occupants, starts to feel oppressive.

“ _Like what?”_ 002 asks, and he sees the agent pause in his tracks as 001 keeps walking.

“I don’t know exactly what yet, but I’m almost into the Riddler’s mainframe,” he says, frowning at the second riddle.  Somewhere behind him, he can hear the Muse song increase in volume.  “Would a riddle keep you entertained, double-oh seven?  Or would you end up shooting one of my subordinates out of sheer frustration?” he asks.

“ _If I ever did that regularly, you wouldn’t have_ any _subordinates left by now.”_

And people out in the Real World wonder where he got his dark sense of humor.  “If you’d shot all of my subordinates, M would need a break from you.  But he wouldn’t be able to send you out on a mission just to get you out of London and shooting _real_ bad guys because there would no longer be a Q – Branch to supply you.  So for the sake of everyone involved, please try not to kill my subordinates.  No riddles, got it.  Then be quiet so I can solve the last five riddles and get into the mainframe.”

“ _Why not wait until 001 and 002 disable all the bombs?”_

A momentary hesitation, an alien one in this environment, but his lips and hands are still moving even though his brain lags behind just a little bit – he’s not supposed to be here; he doesn’t know where ‘here’ is.  “We still don’t know the full extent of the rigged TNT, and there are civilians above us,” he replies as the confusion retreats to the back of his head again. 

“ _I’d just blow the TNT up.  Be done with it.”_

“And you wonder why M kept you off this mission,” he mutters under his breath, biting back a flash of frustration at the second – to – last riddle that pops up.  “We also don’t know if there’s a hidden cache of bombs, just in case the TNT fails.  Too many unknowns and civilians here, double – oh seven.”

“ _Breathe, Q.  You’re doing fine, your right hand minion says you’re almost through.”_

_Why does he keep calling me by that letter?_

He shakes his head, trying to squash the feeling of unease coiling in his gut.  The sensation only gets worse though once he reaches the Riddler’s last question:

_What belongs to you, but is used by others?_

“I’m down to the last puzzle,” he says into the microphone, but his insides freeze when he realizes that the line is completely dead.  A quick glance at his personal laptop shows that only one of the two red dots – _one of the double–ohs –_ is still blinking and feeding him the man’s vital signs.  The other light and feed is completely gone.

_No, no, no…_

“Agents, please –” he stops when he realizes that his link with the double – ohs is also dead, with not even just static.  Only silence.  The sole remaining red dot is making its way to the security command center, almost as though it had traveled these halls countless times before MI6 ever heard of the criminal known as ‘The Riddler’.

Considering the way his luck has been going, that is probably the case.

Focusing on the riddle before him, he’s half – tempted to hack into the system anyway, take the risk.  But he doesn’t, he knows there are hundreds of unaware civilians right above the bunker going about their daily lives, completely unaware of the danger below them. 

He briefly wonders if MI6 is aware at all, of the communications blackout and if they’re doing anything to fix it.

He doesn’t remember typing in the answer to the last riddle, doesn’t even remember what it is, but the next thing he knows, he’s finally in the Riddler’s mainframe.

It’s right about then that not only does the Muse song finally stop, but the second red dot vanishes from his screen as well.  He’s not an idiot; he knows when someone is playing with him, especially since he’s now blind and mute.  Forcing himself to calm down through a series of breathing exercises, he reaches for the memory drive that he’d prepared specially for this mission, pulls it out of his satchel, and plugs it into the console he’d been working on since he’d gotten there earlier that afternoon.  Shutting down the laptop’s open programs, he activated the laptop’s encrypted security software before shutting down completely.  Then, turning back to the Riddler’s mainframe, he began sifting through data as soon as he activated the downloading process.  He’s going to save what he can and sift through it later, but there are some things that he needed to figure out in case the data is destroyed by accident or on purpose.

Such as the Riddler’s associates.

He’s scrolling through numerous files when he spots what looks like a series of recorded transcripts.  Phone calls, emails, it’s all in here.  There are also hard copies of these documents; he can see where someone had scribbled notes in black pen before scanning them. 

The most recent transcript is only five days old.  Someone had written ‘Watch this one’ in the margins, with an arrow pointing to the phone number… a phone number with a London area code.  The other number is an American one, so he starts to go for the London area code first.

Hands hover above the keyboard as it occurs to him that MI6 would rather know about what kind of person Riddler is, instead of what looks like measly transcript.  The problem is that the number is something tangible, a lead.

He makes the call.  He doesn’t remember his reasoning behind it; he just makes the call and moves on.

Studying the transcript even more, he finds that the person in London is monitoring both the Prime Minister as well as several members of the royal family.   It’s a modern, bloodless coup d’état, one that relies on the people themselves for their soldiers.  Part of the plan is relying on the fact that the Riddler will be able to rile the people up enough to be willing to help.  There is a disagreement as to when the first stages should proceed because MI6 is still wound up over the pipe bomb, but in the end, the American caller gets his way. 

The transcript also reveals a third member of the command staff, an unnamed woman stationed in Venice.  Since she’s only referred to as ‘her’ in the document, he can’t assume much about her.

Swallowing and ever so aware of the deafening silence around him, he begins tracking the London number; it’s closer to headquarters as compared to the American one.  This is child’s play compared to the Riddler’s ridiculous security measures protecting his database.  After what feels like hours but was most likely seconds, he finally locates a man named ‘Roan Deeler’.   Possibly a pseudonym, but the face that appears in the federal database is most definitely not a fake.

He’s definitely seen that face before, less than six hours ago on the train from London to Paris.  It’s a face that disappeared less than ten minutes ago on his laptop, when the final blackout occurred.

He remotely accesses the MI6 database, just double – check that he’s not jumping to conclusions.

To his dismay, the faces not only match, but also so do the names on record; one is an anagram of the other. 

_MI6 has a traitor in the ranks._

And a dangerous one on top of that.

And it was loose in the same bunker as him.

_Damn._

Forcing himself to remain calm, he checks the status of the download – _76% complete_ – before he begins to wipe the already copied information off the mainframe.  He doesn’t know what other plans are stored here, but the mainframe is large enough to be considered a data stronghold, and in the back of his mind, where it’s not overwhelmed with panic, he can’t wait to sift through it later.  But protocol dictated that the original source must be destroyed, to cripple the enemy if nothing else.

 _‘If I can’t have it, then no one can’,_ occasionally happens to be MI6’s favorite policy sometimes regarding stolen commodities.

That done, he begins to search through the remaining transcripts, searching for anything that hints at the identity of the either the Riddler or the female conspirator and eventually lead to their arrests… or deaths.  Whichever happens to come before the other.

_Beep!_

Reaching over, he pulls out the memory drive, and, after a moment’s thought, slips it into a hidden interior pocket of his jacket.  It isn’t his usual parka, it’s not cold enough yet for that right now, but the jacket still serves its purpose.  Zipping the jacket back up, he types in the commands to speed along the wiping of the entire system.  At this point, it’s all a matter of getting the information back to MI6 intact so that the guilty parties can be brought in and the hunt for the Riddler can resume without any more interference.  Then he stuffs his personal laptop back into its usual bag.

_“System wipe complete.”_

He nearly jumps out of his skin at the cool female voice.  Despite this announcement however, he doesn’t quite trust the system.  He makes a mental note to send a virus along later to ensure that the system is down for good.

“Neat little trick, don’t you think?”

Ah.

“Deeler.  Or should I say ‘Reardon’?” he replies, turning around to face the other man, the latest traitor.  He decides to go with Reardon since that’s what it says in the man’s MI6 profile. 

Reardon shrugs.  “The Riddler was always a paranoid bastard, he needed someone to reassure him that the system was done with whatever operation it was programmed to do.  Including, being wiped completely, it seems,” he says, his bulk taking up the doorframe.

He’s pretending to pay attention to the enemy, but in reality, he’s calculating the distance between him and the door, and then how far he’d need Reardon to walk into the room before it’s ‘safe’ to escape.  Loyal double – ohs are enough of a handful to begin with, but a traitorous one is unpredictable.

“You do realize that MI6 is on their way, correct?” he asks in a steady voice that doesn’t give away suppressed panic.

“Yes.  I’m going to tell them how at the last minute, a pocket of the Riddler’s minions showed up, ambushing all three of us.  I was so busy defending my mission partner, who unfortunately died, that I was unable to save the Quartermaster.  007’s going to be upset, understandable given his less–than-stellar track record with his lovers, but I’ll give him a target to chase.  Maybe another threat to my safety or cover.”

Reardon’s specialty is that he’s a sniper.  He’s more comfortable with long range attacks, but that doesn’t mean he’s a complete idiot when it comes to close – quarters combat.  Usually, he has his mission partner to balance that weakness out, but if his story is true, then the other man is already dead.

“You will be caught.  My successor will definitely catch you if 007 doesn’t first,” he replies, standing tall now.  Maybe he’s considering, as a real possibility, the fact that he may very well not make it out of the bunker alive, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t going to try.

Reardon scoffs.  “I think we both know that 007 will have forgotten and moved on from you in six months, that’s what he always does.  I’m not terribly worried about him.”

“Your information and backup are gone, what is there left to gain?” he asks, fighting to keep the desperation out of his voice.

“Protection.  You see, you may have easily wiped a good chunk of data out, but I’m still at risk because you know.  So unless you memorized something else that I don’t know about, it’s all gone,” Reardon says, pulling out a pistol.

He wonders if his survival rate has just dropped down another notch.   The only double – oh he’s ever faced in a combat situation is 007, and that had been in a controlled environment with a man who didn’t want to kill him. 

His hesitation costs him, because Reardon sees it immediately.  “You _did_ memorize something else.  I know you won’t betray MI6, so I won’t bother asking if you’d like to join me,” he says, (finally) stepping forward and into the room.

“M will be annoyed as well, that he’ll have to replace me,” he says, still trying to stall.  Once he’s out the open (and unprotected) door behind Reardon, he’ll probably last a little longer out there than he will if he remains in here. 

“But the fact still stands that you’re replaceable.  Mission casualties happen all the time and MI6 moves on still.  Hell, even when the previous M died, her successor was chosen quickly and we moved on,” Reardon adds.

Before he can come back with a response, Reardon opens fire.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid…_

He should have seen the gun sooner, that Reardon was just distracting him.  He still ducks behind the chair and rolls to the side behind some abandoned equipment, bullets making dull thudding sounds as the rounds impact against plastic and circuitry.  He starts moving toward the door, using the darkness of the room and the equipment to his advantage as Reardon empties the clip on useless targets, shooting blind.  Since he’s designed the weapon, he knows how many bullets can fit in the chamber before reloading is necessary, so when he hears the familiar tell-tale _click_ of an empty firearm, he moves swiftly from his hiding place and out of the command center, ducking a swing from the traitor and slamming the center door shut after his departure.  Knowing that it won’t stop Reardon completely, he shoves as much debris as possible against the door in the hopes it will slow Reardon down before bolting down the corridor.

Well, stumbling along is a more accurate term.  It’s darker out here than in the command center, and he’s tripping every two meters over some rock or pockmark in the floor.  His computer keeps smacking against the leg, but the weight is reassuring, it lets him know that he still has his things.  He runs a hand along the wall in an effort to guide himself, and nearly cries in relief when he spots several dim ceiling lights up ahead at the turn. 

It takes him a few seconds to realize that communications are back up ( _when did that happen?)_ and there’s an eerily calm and familiar voice ordering – no, _demanding_ , for a status report.  He can’t respond though, he’s so close and his heart is pounding in his ears, masking Reardon’s efforts to break free.

He does let out an undignified squeak when he hears a crash back down the hall, signaling that Reardon’s free from the improvised prison. 

He comes to an abrupt stop as he rounds the corners, slightly wheezing from running and breathing in rock dust and God knows what else.

The only door in and out of the bunker that he knows of is blocked with fallen debris from the ceiling.  The betrayed double – oh lies still on the ground with his head at a twisted angle and a dark knife handle sticking out of his back, the little sliver of exposed blade stained a vibrant scarlet.

He doesn’t remember reaching for the knife, but next thing he knows, it’s in his hands.  If he’s going down, he might as well go down fighting.  The voice on the other end of the earpiece is still barking at him, alternating between demanding a response and ordering someone else on his end. 

_I’m literally bringing a knife to a gunfight.  I must be mad._

Praying that he’s not going to look completely foolish, he tries to recall the self – defense that he’d received from… someone important.  Just as he does however, the angered traitor rounds the corner.

He throws the knife right as the traitor fires.

Hot burning pain sears its way just below his collarbone, burning its way across his shoulder.  Stars explode in his vision seconds later, when the back of his head connects with the broken concrete behind him.  There’s screaming, there’s a lot of it but he can’t tell where it’s coming from: him, his attacker, or the nameless man on the other end of the earpiece…

* * *

 

His eyes flew open and registered the off – white ceiling above him as the soft pillow provided relief to his pounding headache.  He could still hear the screaming though, the very sound of the sheer terror, making his heart claw out of his chest.

It took him a second to realize that the screaming was none other than his own.


	2. Chapter 2

“How much did you sleep last night?”

Alex Winfield jerked out of his thoughts at the sound of his therapist’s voice.  The two of them were sitting in a semi-darkened room that was probably designed to soothe the patient, but it was strangely only making Alex feel uncomfortable; the potted plants were large enough to hide a person, the carpet thick enough to muffle footsteps, and the dim lighting created shadows were there were none.  His senses felt completely dulled, most likely from his current state of exhaustion.  “I’m sorry, what?” he asked, turning back to face his therapist, Ella Thompson.  “What did you say?” he clarified, trying to mentally shake the feeling of exposure. 

“I asked, how much sleep did you get last night?” Ella repeated patiently.

Alex didn’t answer right away, just turned to look back out the window that overlooked a grassy courtyard area that was probably supposed to be a peaceful sight as well.  It was hard to tell at the moment, with the steady rainfall obscuring everything from sight.  He wondered if it would turn to snow at some point.  “I slept about four or five hours last night, I wasn’t keeping track,” he finally said, pulling his glasses off to rub his eyes.  Last night had been unusually tricky, since he’d been exhausted but too wound up to go back to sleep all at the same time.  In the end, he’d settled for staring at the ceiling above him until the sun finally came up, providing the final assurance that that he had not in fact woken up with a bullet, knife, or the weapon of the night buried deep in his skin, and that he’d only dreamt the latest round of blood and terror. 

“Did you dream again?” Ella prompted.

Alex almost replied with a  _‘What do you think?’_ but then he decided not to give Ella any more reason to assign more therapy sessions than his doctor required.  The bare minimum, he was satisfied with that for now.   Instead, he said, “Yeah… I think it was a recurring one… I…” he stopped in a half-hearted attempt to remember anything about it.  He usually forgot major details almost immediately, but the memories of the screams always remained.  “But I don’t know.  There were screams, and I don’t know whose, but then again, there are always screams in each one.  It was too dark to really see anything,” he half-lied as he slipped his glasses on again.  He also decided not to mention that he’d woken himself (and probably a few of his neighbors) up again. 

“Hm.  It could be that your suppressed memories are starting to slowly come back, recovery is not entirely unheard of,” Ella said, leaning back as she shielded her notes so she could study them in peace.

“With the amount of, er, blood I’ve been seeing lately, I’m actually a little unsure if I want them back or not,” Alex admitted, rubbing a temple while looking anywhere but at Ella.

“Well, there’s always the greater chance that you may never completely regain everything, but you will definitely start to get bits and pieces back as time goes on.  It’s part of the healing process.  It tells me and Doctor Redding that your brain is healed enough to handle a little more of what it is that you can’t remember,” Ella replied patiently.  “Perhaps with time, you’ll start to pick up some old skills again, maybe a name or two.”

“I doubt it.  It’s been six months since I’ve gotten out of the hospital, seven since the accident… whatever happened.  If anyone was with me, even as a friend, I’d have thought they would come back by now.”  Alex rested his chin on his fist, remembering the shock to the gut when he’d found out in the hospital that his mother, his last surviving family member, had passed away at some point during those three years.  “Maybe any friends I had passed away, and I just don’t remember.”

“You’ll never know unless you look,” Ella said quietly, resting the clipboard facedown on her knees.  “Maybe once you start remembering more, you can start piecing those three years together.  This isn’t something you can rush.”  She sighed and then added, “The doctors tell me that you’re making remarkable progress with your physical recoveries, but you need to sleep to allow your body a chance to heal.”

Alex didn’t react this time.

Leaning forward again, she asked, “Do you remember when exactly these nightmares started?”

It was hard to forget, especially since the constant reminder was still sitting on the kitchen counter.  “November twenty-seventh, two thousand and fifteen,” he said, turning back to look at Ella.  “Exactly three weeks ago.”  Come to think of it, he still had to bin that pamphlet, the one that had highlighted the gallery events for the day.

“What happened that day?” she asked, picking the clipboard up again.

“I went to the National Gallery with a coworker.  We got separated,” he replied.

Ella nodded as she kept writing.  “What did you see there?”

“Paintings?”  Alex frowned as he tried to remember the ones he’d paused at long enough to read the little information cards, he’d only stopped for a few.  The rest he’d just skimmed over.  “I don’t remember a specific one, I saw a lot that day.”

“Okay, that’s still progress.  The way I see it, something you saw at the gallery triggered the nightmares in the sense that something significant happened at the gallery that is connected to the subject matter of the nightmares.”  Ella glanced up at him.  “Do you only have nightmares, or do you have any pleasant dreams?”

 _No, those are mine.  Not yours_.  “Not at all,” he lied.

“That’s troubling, in the sense that you must have been in a very traumatic environment during those years,” she said, leaving out the obvious _‘And perhaps you should have seen a psychologist then too’._ Well, that was Alex heard, whether Ella had intended those specific words or not.

Reaching over to a small stack of cards, Ella said, “For the last thirty minutes, I want to try the association exercise again.  We’ll be working with a different set than last time,” she said.  “Remember, just say the word that comes to mind first, don’t think about it at all.”

Alex made a mental note to come up with a way to remotely gimmick the clock to make it move a little faster.

“Ready?” Ella prompted.

He sighed, but nodded.

She lifted the first card and said, “Day.”

“Alive.”

She took a moment to write his answer down.  “Night?” she asked, to which he replied with ‘death’.

This continued for what felt like hours.  Alex noticed halfway through that she was recycling some cards from the last time they’d done this, and just provided the same answer he’d given then.  He focused more on staying awake than actually listening to Ella; the armchair was surprisingly comfortable and warm.  Warmth meant safety.  He could relax, could sleep…

“Alex?”

“Hm?” He came back to full alertness, noting with a slight twinge of dismay that only fifteen minutes had actually passed.  “I’m sorry, what was the word again?” he asked, straightening back up in the chair as the warmth dissipated into nothingness again. 

“Air,” she said, watching him carefully now.

“Awful,” he replied, hoping that this wasn’t the opening to her trying to pry more information about his aerophobia.  He hadn’t been able to sleep for several days after the last time she asked about it.

Instead of pursing the topic like he feared, Ella merely nodded.  “All right, one more before our wrap up.  ‘Sky’,” she said, looking up at him again from the card.

“Fall,” he said automatically.

Ella didn’t say anything as she continued writing, and Alex glanced back up at the clock, well aware of the fact that it wasn’t going to move any faster. 

“Before we end this session, I want to talk a little more about the trip that triggered these nightmares, back when you went to the National Gallery,” Ella said, looking up at him.  “Why were you there in the first place?”

“My coworker, Caroline Bright, wanted to talk to the manager about hosting her photography collection.  We got separated, I went into one of the wings, looked at paintings for thirty to forty minutes before she found me, and then when I went to bed that night, the nightmares started.  I wrote it off as a bad day, but it happened again, night after night,” Alex said, frowning: something felt off.

“Tell me a little more about Ms. Bright,” Ella said, pausing in her writing.  “What is she like?”

 _Different._   “She’s an American, but has lived in London for the last ten years.  She was in a car accident when she was seventeen, which shattered her right knee.  She’s walked with a limp ever since then, but she likes to joke that if she hadn’t been in the accident, she would have become a secret agent.  Loves photography and prefers natural subjects, but has difficulty because she’s near-sighted.  That’s why she prefers to sit at her desk, her computer and papers are right there,” Alex said, fighting down a small twinge of familiar unease; the story was too practiced.  Which was ridiculous, because it was also Caroline that helped him get back on his feet two weeks after he left St. Bartholomew’s Hospital, and was one of the kindest souls he’d met so far in this new life of his.

“And what does she do for her job?”

“She’s just a secretary, namely my boss’s secretary.  She keeps him from crashing the company and covers me when I walk in late,” Alex replied.

“Where is it that you work again?” Ella asked.

“Royal International Exports, the office portion of it anyway, specifically in the IT department.  Immediate superior is Ryan Andrews, boss is Martin Putnam,” Alex replied, resisting the urge to check the clock. 

“What exactly do _you_ do?”

“I keep the people in Accounting happy by fixing their servers and I keep Andrews happy by making sure the six IT interns stay out of trouble,” Alex said, shrugging with the uninjured shoulder; the scars from both the bullet and surgery on the right side of his collarbone were still sensitive, as he’d had the misfortune of finding out the other day by accident.

“All right then, Alex?  Before I let you go, there are three things I would like you to do before our next appointment next week,” Ella said, setting the clipboard facedown again. 

 _I’ll think about it._  “What specifically?” he asked; he was eager to just leave the room now.

“First, I want you to schedule your next appointment with me on your way out,” Ella said knowingly.  Alex tried to hide his grimace, but she continued talking as though she hadn’t seen it.  “Second, I want you to work on getting more sleep.  There are medication options available,” she said, watching him now. 

 _Definitely no promises._ “And the third?” he asked.

“This is the most important.  I want you to go back to the National Gallery before our next meeting, and try to pinpoint the painting that triggered these nightmares.   Clearly, this painting was important enough to you that your subconscious picked up on it immediately despite your brain not remembering it.  I’m hoping that once we identify the painting, we can work on identifying the significance.”  She arched an eyebrow and asked, “Do you have any questions?”

“No.”  Alex was starting to feel anxious again.  Maybe he was still suffering from last night’s unease.  “Anything else?”

“No, that will be all for now.  Thank you, and please remember to schedule your next appointment on your way out,” she said as he stood up and collected his parka and computer bag.  “Have a nice day, Mr. Winfield.”

“Thank you, and I hope you have a nice day as well, Ms. Thompson,” he said before leaving the room.

He didn’t stop to make another appointment on his way out.

* * *

Despite his best efforts, and taking into account he had the appointment that morning, Alex was still late to work.

“Don’t even think for one moment that just because I’m as blind as a bat, I can’t hear you sneaking in over there,” Caroline Bright said without looking up from her laptop.  Alex grimaced, got up from where he’d been crouching against the opposite wall of the lobby, and reluctantly walked over to her desk.

She was working through a stack of insurance requests when Alex finally got close enough to see.  “Can I help you?” he asked, trying and failing to mimic her fading American accent.

“Good try, but you’re not there yet.  Which one was it today, Vauxhall or Imperial Wharf?” she asked, absently brushing some of her brunette bangs out of her face as she signed off two forms for Putnam’s approval. 

Alex grimaced.  “Actually, it was Kennington today.  Nathaniel was on security duty, he says hello,” he said, pulling off his wet parka and remaining careful to keep it away from Caroline’s paperwork.  “I swear I’m not trying to get lost on the Tube on purpose, I just go in that direction without thinking sometimes.”

“Hm.  You should probably talk to your doctor about that, can’t have you going on the fritz on us,” Caroline replied, looking up with one of her innocent smiles. 

“I know, I was going to tell her when I see him on Monday,” Alex replied.  He pointedly looked down at her right leg and said, “So long as you tell yours about the twinges that have been keeping you from having lunch down in IT with me these last couple of days.”

“Idiot.”  As usual, there was no bite in her tone, just an old fondness.  “I’m seeing mine after work on Friday, so don’t worry.”

“Ah, I’d forgotten about that.  I was going to ask if you could come with me to the National Gallery either Friday or Saturday,” Alex said, straightening up again.

Caroline mulled over the suggestion for a moment.  “Let me get back to you on that, I’ll let you know by Friday morning,” she said with a faint smile as her phone rang.  “Hold on for a moment,” she said, reaching for the receiver.  “Hello?”

As she spoke to the person on the other end, Alex eyed her laptop.  It was a newer model, just like his, but it was also out of semi-permanent reach.  Every time an R.I.E. employee’s computer died, crashed, or just stopped working for whatever reason, it always, without fail, ended up in the IT department for repairs.  Alex, without telling anyone, usually entertained himself during repairs by guessing the owner’s identity.  He’d verify his guess under the guise of making sure the computer ran smoothly again, and would just check the account holder’s name.  The _only_ computer that had yet to enter the IT department was Caroline’s, and she guarded it jealously.  Alex knew it broke from time to time; she dropped it by accident once, and he had (secretly) infected it badly with a couple viruses another time just to force her into bringing it down to IT, but no such luck.

“Well, that was Emma, Andrews’ secretary.  Two of the interns are apparently attempting to stage a coup d’état since there’s no one in charge down there, and they’ve apparently waited long enough,” Caroline said, putting the phone back into the cradle.

Alex frowned.  “What about Andrews?”

Caroline frowned.  “Didn’t you get the email this morning?  Andrews went to the hospital last night.  Some arsehole driving an Aston Martin was doing some high-speed chase through London late last night, and accidentally side-slammed into Andrews’ car, flipping it ninety degrees and putting Andrews into St. Bart’s.  Since he is out, Putnam handed over control of the IT department to you.  Emma has tried to keep the interns in line, but no one’s got the touch like you do,” she said, relaxing back in her chair.

Alex stared at her.  “Why me?  I started here less than a year ago.”

“Putnam thought that the interns would go way out of control if Andrews wasn’t around to add to the threat level.  So he wanted someone to handle both the interns and the regular crew.  I usually don’t agree with Putnam, but in this case, I can see his concerns and feel that since you can handle the interns, managing the entire IT department for two months should be easy,” she replied, shrugging one shoulder.  “Sandler is apparently leading the charge.”

 _Not again.  Bloody Americans._   “All right, I’ll go.”  Alex almost started to leave, but then backtracked when a thought occurred to him.  “Do you happen to know the name of the Aston Martin driver?” he asked quickly.

“No… why?” Caroline asked, looking puzzled.

“I was just going to make sure that his driver’s insurance rates reflected this recent… incident,” Alex replied innocently.

Caroline frowned at him for a moment, but her expression cleared up once she caught onto what he was implying.  “Have I ever told you that I like the way you think?” she asked, grinning as she typed something into her computer.  “Ah, here we go.  So while no one saw the driver, witnesses claim to have seen a charcoal-gray Aston Martin DBS V12 side-slam into another car while in pursuit of an unmarked minivan, both of which disappeared completely from sight not too long afterwards.  Scotland Yard is still searching for either car,” she read aloud.  “Aston Martin license number read ‘E38 WNR’, but you didn’t hear that from me.”

“Hear what from you?  We weren’t having any discussions,” Alex said, winking at her.

“That’s right, I was pointing out to you that I never said the coup was a bloodless one,” Caroline said, looking apologetic and guilty all at once.

 _“Damn_ ,” Alex swore before taking off down the corridor.

“Call me if you need someone to help break it up!” Caroline called after him.

Alex didn’t reply; he was too distracted at the moment.

He’d been working at Royal International Exports for five and a half months, starting two weeks after his release from St. Bartholomew’s Hospital.  It had been the smoothest transition he’d ever experienced, getting hired at the first place he applied to and Caroline easing the first couple weeks at the company.  It wasn’t until his third month there that someone (Alex had always suspected Andrews) noticed his apparent natural talent for handling the rowdier recruits and interns.  Putnam appointed him in charge of the intern population, whatever the number may be at the time, and he’d been stuck like that since then.  Since it was December, he only had six to deal with, but two were Americans and one of those two was the biggest troublemaker yet. 

Alex was convinced that in some previous life, he’d offended the deity that protected interns, and this was his punishment. 

By the time he arrived, the coup was over.  Michael Sandler was perched on the high stool at Andrews’ workstation in the front of the room.  His cohort, Ricky Lewis, was cradling a bloody nose while one of the regular employees looked unusually smug.  A quick check in the Intern Corner told Alex that the other American, Edd Holton, and his friend, Sarah Williams, were still working on their assignments, as were the Miller twins.  Alex calmly walked up to Sandler and asked, “Enjoying yourself?”

Several employees jumped when Sandler let out a screech and fell off the stool by accident.  “Sir!  I, uh, I…” Sandler stammered as he pulled himself up from the floor and backpedaled so fast he barreled straight into Lewis. 

“You’re lucky that I have things to sort out before I deal with you and Lewis.  Lewis, go get your nose either looked at or treated.  Trust me when I say you don’t want to be scrubbing blood out of the equipment,” Alex said, forcing to keep his tone mild and calm despite the sheer irritation he was feeling right now. 

“Yes sir,” Lewis mumbled before running from the room.  Sandler took that his cue to bolt back to the Intern Corner.

Alex released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.  “Emma, has Mr. Putnam sent in today’s agenda yet?” he asked, glancing at Andrews’ secretary, who was standing nearby.

“Amazingly, he hasn’t.  Despite how late in the morning it is already,” she replied as Alex set his computer bag on Andrews’ workstation before walking over to hang up his dripping parka. 

“Thank you, please do let me know when he does,” Alex said, coming back to the workstation to pull his laptop out of the bag and powering it up. 

“Of course… _sir_ ,” Emma replied, and Alex ignored the twinge of sarcasm at the end of her sentence.  He knew she, just like everyone else in the room, were wondering how a newcomer had managed to step in for the boss when there were better qualified substitutes available.

Turning his focus to the mystery Aston Martin driver, he hesitated before doing anything.  It had been a while since ‘granted’ unofficial permission to hack into anything, and even though he was learning (re-learning?) to properly hack without getting caught he was still taking the process slowly.  The last time he remembered hacking into anything, it had been university records, more than three years ago.  He made a mental note to ask Caroline about the hardest databases to get into in the country; he’d save those as a test. 

Alex released a breath, checked to make sure that everyone else was quietly working on their individual assignments, double-checked to make sure the interns were actually working and not messing around, and then looked back at his laptop, which was waiting for the next command. 

He took a moment more to revel in how _right_ it felt to be standing here, with the room and other workers before him.  It was the first time he’d experienced something _comfortable_ in months. 

Andrews would have a fit if he ever found out that Alex, a mere employee who was still quite new, entertained the idea of usurping him.

Alex allowed himself a small smile before descending into his old and familiar world of numbers and codes.  While he may have forgotten large pieces of the material world, it was nice when he found that he did have a world that was, for the most part, unchanged.  It was starting to become his refuge more and more frequently though, especially once the nightmares began.  It was codes that kept him company during the long hours of the night when he couldn’t sleep.  He hadn’t really bothered looking for any kind of romantic companionship after _finally_ getting out of the hospital, and he most certainly wasn’t going to search for any right now since he was a nightmare-plagued insomniac hacker wanna-be.

He’d meant what he said to Ella.  If he’d been romantically involved with someone, he would have thought he or she would have approached him by now.

Alex hoped he wasn’t holding out for a figment of his imagination.  It was still too soon to tell for sure.

Fingers flying across the keyboard, he nearly visibly jumped when a new window suddenly popped up on his screen.  He glanced around the room to make sure everyone else was still working, and then he clicked to enlarge the new window.  He read silently for a few minutes before raising an eyebrow.

Well, _that_ was not only interesting, but unexpected as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I mean to have this up two days ago, keep to a weekly updating schedule, but halfway through the first draft, I decided to rewrite it completely.
> 
> I'm basing the story's timeline off of the idea that the Skyfall incident took place in November 2012... basically the month the film came out. So right about now, it would be December 18th, 2015.
> 
> Disclaimer: I am not a doctor/psychologist/medical expert.
> 
> Also, I was blown away by the response to the first chapter, and I can only hope that this one met expectations. Thank you so much, everyone!


	3. Chapter 3

At first glance, it looked like corporate sabotage.

R.I.E. did get its fair share of competitors in both the boardroom and in the business, but Alex always loved it when Putnam drifted into the IT department to ask him to ‘nudge’ a few numbers in the competitor’s accounting records.  Completely illegal of course, but it was a last resort measure.  He’d had to do that twice in the last four months to the same company, Universal Exports, and then topped off his second hack with a nicely planted virus in the other company’s servers.  While the system didn’t crash as much as Alex had hoped, Universal Exports seemed to take the hint and backed off. 

Until last night.

The gray Aston Martin apparently belonged to Universal Exports, a car that was registered to the company in general, not a specific driver.  The list of drivers did not exist on the company’s website, but Alex figured that with a little time, he could easily access the company’s servers again.  He just couldn’t do it at work since this time, the hack did not have Putnam’s blessing, and Alex didn’t have any backup options for a job in the event he was fired.

Alex was still careful to remain calm as he approached the complex that had overlooked Hyde Park, giving away nothing as he stepped onto the lift with two of his neighbors: Heather Nelson who lived on the same floor as him, and Alec Trevelyan who lived on the floor above him.  Nelson and Trevelyan were friends; that much Alex had gathered when he’d first moved in several months ago.  Granted, he didn’t really know for sure how they knew each other since he’d been something of a recluse since moving in (that and a cat that scared visitors away), and he could only hope that Trevelyan didn’t live in the flat above him and heard all the nightmares for the last couple weeks.

When he finally got to his flat, he unlocked the door and then stuck his foot in the crack.  “Hello, Missy.  I missed you too,” he said, using his foot to keep the calico from bolting out the door.  “Give me a moment, and I’ll get you your dinner, promise,” he said, shutting the door behind him and setting the computer bag on the table as well as his keys.  He hung his jacket up on the hook by the door and headed into the main room of the flat, picking up the cold but still full mug of coffee from where he’d left it on the dining table and dumped it out into the sink.  Putting the mug off to the side, he pulled out a clean one and filled the kettle to get water going for his evening tea. 

Missy followed him around the small kitchenette, meowing insistently as she brushed up against him several times as though to trip him up.  Alex couldn’t get angry with her all the time, not since she was a tangible reminder of a time that technically didn’t exist anymore.  Her intense dislike of strangers kept people away from the flat, but Alex sometimes contemplated shutting her up in the closet for a couple hours, just so he could have a visitor over without fear of slashed ankles or torn clothing. 

He set her food dish down on the ground and stepped around her as she went to eat.  He knew he should eat too, but he was more interested in cracking Universal Export’s secrets rather than setting himself up for another digging through the fridge for a dinner by himself.

Taking his computer bag, he pulled the familiar laptop out and set it up on the table in front of the couch and powered it up.  Missy padded out of the kitchen and jumped onto the couch as the login screen came on. 

“Which virus do you think we should use as the smokescreen?” he asked the cat, who merely tilted her head at him.  “Well, we used the multiplier last week when getting into Putnam’s files, I suppose we can use the silverfish today,” he said, calling up the program that he used to create the coded viruses and selecting the ‘silverfish’, one he used to distract security software and any IT techs that might be prowling in the system at the time of the hack.  The ‘silverfish’ also left a trail of unraveled code and rearranged files, giving the complete appearance of a serious virus.  The only drawback was that it couldn’t create _permanent_ damage; it was only a distraction technique so that Alex could get into the system unnoticed and create the permanent damage.

He wrote in the override codes, and then easily relocated Universal Exports’ servers again.  The last time he’d done this, the techs had been active in the system and he’d been unprepared for resistance.  Now, he definitely knew better.

Using a half-remembered code, he typed the entry codes and passwords and the released the virus into the system. 

He’d forgotten how simple it was to get into the servers, but he took it as a sign of caution.  Adjusting the program settings so that he could receive a pop-up alert at the first sign of trouble, Alex began sifting through the database data, focused on the personnel lists rather than the company’s accounts.

There were no assigned drivers at first glance.  Starting at the bottom of the apparent corporate hierarchy, he clicked through the individual profiles of each person involved actually involved with the shipping process.  Some faces were completely foreign while others tugged at Alex’s memory, but he absently shrugged them off as he kept scrolling through.  He noticed that there was a layer of semi-familiar coding surrounding each profile, but Alex suspected that it had more to do with keeping the average Internet user from accidentally editing something he wasn’t supposed to.

He paused by one of the profiles, an international liaison which no longer worked for the company.  A man in his mid-thirties, the dark-haired William Fairbanks apparently worked from Universal Exports for almost twenty years until he left seven months ago for unexplained reasons.  His dates of employment ran from November 21, 1995 to May 16, 2015, and his job had been to travel to Universal Exports’ foreign subdivisions ensure that everything was still running smoothly. 

_Not a driver then._

He didn’t immediately leave Fairbanks’s profile though; something about it was bugging him.

_“Like what?”_

Alex reflexively shook his head as though to shake the ghost; he shouldn’t be hearing them, not while he was working…

_…lies still on the ground…_

“Stop,” he muttered, shaking his head slightly before moving the cursor to click the ‘Next’ button.

The small headache retreated away when his eyes settled on the next person, the last of the four registered liaisons; not someone he recognized.  The next person he did somewhat recognize: the department head.  Her name was Eve Moneypenny, she lived here in London, and even though she was smiling in her employee photograph, Alex could picture her with an annoyed expression on her face.

Swallowing the sickening sense of unease, Alex mentally filed away Moneypenny’s name for later perusal before clicking on the link that would take him to the list of departments and the department heads.  Hoping to find something remotely close to drivers, he vaguely realized that his virus had disappeared, no longer distracting an apparently absent IT department: he’d been in the system for a while and so far had yet to be challenged.  Hoping that he hadn’t just lost the virus for good, he continued perusing the list of names, mouthing each one as he read it.

_Willard, Phillip H.: Accounting Department_

_Winfield, Alexander B: Information and Technology Department_

_Whit-_

Alex, in hindsight, was rather glad he’d forgotten about the teakettle.  For one thing, it meant that he was scared almost senseless when the whistle began, and for another, it meant he didn’t have anything to spill on Missy by accident.  The cat merely stretched out on the sofa while Alex scrambled to get the kettle off the stove and pour the water into an empty mug.  Leaving the teabag in, he headed back over to his computer to let the tea steep for a little while. 

He stared at his name on the screen, and, with shaking fingers, clicked on his name, pulling up another profile.

Ignoring the photograph, he scanned his personal information, noting that the address was on the other side of London than his current flat.  Pulling a half-used notepad closer to him, he jotted the address down before studying the dates of service and the short sentence that followed:

_May 2, 2012 – May 16, 2015: On indefinite medical leave._

Alex stared at the dates, somehow just _knowing_ that those were the three years he was missing.  He’d have to double-check with his doctor, see when it was that he was initially brought into the hospital.

_But…_

“I’ve been out of the hospital for almost six months.  Why haven’t any of them tried to contact me?” Alex asked, glancing at Missy, who tilted her head back at him with a feline version of a scowl.  Almost as if she was pissed off with him, although if that was the case, Alex could only imagined what he’d done to offend her now.  “Was I _that_ bad of an employee, do you think?” he asked, turning his attention back to the computer screen.

Bad move on his part.

The moment his attention was off Missy, the cat yowled and smacked Alex on the side of the head, knocking his glasses off.  She shot away from the couch as the glasses clattered to the floor, also saving her own skin when Alex belatedly swiped back at her only to fall on the couch.  His computer nearly fell too, but he quickly caught that.  “Stupid cat,” he muttered as he accessed Universal Exports’ database, assuming that it had been a mistake on the company’s part that his information was in the system, since they hadn’t contacted him at all.  He deleted his profile, and then returned to re-strengthen his own firewalls before continuing his prowl around the servers.

He found a trace of the trail his virus had left behind, a line of code that was designed to be easy to track; it had disappeared down a link to a satellite network. 

Shaking his head, he glanced at Missy, who was perched on the windowsill now.  “Yay or nay to hacking the satellite network?” he asked.

She yawned, which he took as an affirmative.

As Alex waiting for his program to refresh itself for the impending assault, he tried to shake the sense of emptiness off of himself: it was an acute sense of loss and confusion that disoriented him sometimes.  Something or someone was missing from his life, and not knowing who was starting to irritate him.

_Beep!_

Alex jerked back to full alertness; the program was ready.

Sitting forward again, Alex absently reached for a mug of Earl Grey that wasn’t there as he typed with the other hand a string of code that he’d used at some point in the past and saved to a hard drive, one that had been a bag of his things from university.  Here in the world of code and numbers, he was the master.

And the thick layers of security protecting this network were no exceptions.

He hesitated, and then closed his eyes as he tried to remember a certain sequence, one that he’d used before but he couldn’t remember when.  Then he slowly let his fingers type, simply putting them on the keys that felt right. 

He opened his eyes in time to see his computer screen go completely dark.

_What?_

“Shit, shit, not good…” Alex muttered under his breath as he frantically typed recovery codes, trying to regain control of his computer again.  He had no idea how much time he had left until the technicians on other end caught him…

_Ping!_

Alex froze when the computer suddenly came back to life… and the MI6 logo was emblazoned in the center of the screen.  He remained quiet as he stared disbelievingly at the computer, he’d been planning to eventually hack MI6 one day, but by accident?  Would they believe him if he told them it was an accident?

Leaning forward, he slowly accessed the system, running a diagnostic to find out whose, if anyone’s, computer he’d just hacked into.  After looking at the computer’s identification numbers and license agreements, he found it belonged to someone named William Tanner, and, if the stunning amount of access codes he found stashed in the hard drive were anything to go by, the man was high up enough in MI6 to potentially be above suspicion should the hack be discovered. 

“What do you think we should look at first?  Figure out why Universal Exports is a MI6 satellite?  Or wreak a little chaos?” he asked, looking up at Missy, who looked extremely bored.  “I could change access levels from here…unless Mr. Tanner isn’t in charge of that sort of thing.  In which case, I could bounce my signal to whoever has that sort of access… their version of an IT department perhaps.  Or maybe they have more information on the Universal Exports employees… like Fairbanks.  Or Miss Moneypenny.”  Alex typed Fairbanks’ name into the search engine, but it came up empty.  Frowning, he typed his name in, just in case his presence in the Universal Export database wasn’t an accident after all.

Nothing.

Swallowing back a flash of unease, he searched the database for a record or log of some sort, something to explain the dates.  It was not the first piece of tangible evidence he had of his missing past, but it was a clue.  His shoulder ached as his fingers flew over the keyboard, half-remembered passwords coming to mind as he advanced farther into the MI6 servers.  He did briefly detect his virus wreaking havoc in the personnel database, and noted that there were technicians chasing it.  He debated whether to recall it or not: on one hand, he didn’t want the other technicians to get a hold of it and deconstruct _his_ code, but on the other hand, he didn’t want the virus to come back to him and lead overzealous technicians and irritated MI6 goons to his front doorstep.  That and he didn’t want MI6 to no longer be distracted and finally notice the other intruder.  He didn’t want to have to explain to them that he was an amnesiac hacker with no life outside of his job and had stumbled into MI6 by accident.

For some reason, he couldn’t see that going over well as an excuse.

He sighed, and then recalled the virus.  Better to preserve the tech so that he could use it again later.  Assuming he wrote the program correctly, the virus should ‘disappear’, rewriting itself into the surrounding codes and then use the network links to ‘return’ back to Alex’s computer, namely the program where he initially wrote it.  Then, rechecking his firewalls, he hunted for the list of vehicles used by MI6, wondering if perhaps the driver worked for MI6 instead.

Although if that were the case, Alex would have to reassess his plan of attack: insurance adjustments wouldn’t cut it.

Doubling back to the personnel files, in case there was a registered driver there, he was about to start scrolling through when he saw it:

_Moneypenny, Eve._

Underneath her files were several linked files; three were locked down and one wasn’t (although while Alex felt fairly confident that he could crack into those, he didn’t want to trip any alarms just yet).  Clicking on the only unlocked file, he took note of the name – _Bond, James_ – as the file loaded and then opened.

Alex pursed his lips thoughtfully as he studied Bond’s basic profile: several links, such as medical records, were available to Tanner, and so therefore available to Alex.  But it was the picture that caught his attention, the sense of déjà vu of having seen someone familiar even though Alex was fairly sure that the two men had never met before.  Leaning forward to examine the photograph, Alex’s mind helpfully supplied the missing laugh lines, the tiny scar above the left eyebrow, the hairline scar on the right cheek, and lighter hair.

Alex blinked, and then unconsciously shook his head as though to shake the thought away.  As tempting as it was to hunt James Bond down for information, he had no way of approaching the MI6 agent without coming across as a stalker or a hacker.  The idea of arrest (not to mention the potential dead end) did not appeal to him at all.

_Brrrring!_

Alex nearly jumped out of his skin when the phone rang.  Glancing wildly around for the clock, he found that only an hour had passed since he’d gotten home… and that his tea was beyond saving.  Scrambling for the receiver, he finally located the phone on the floor near the TV remote.  “Hell?” he asked, hitting the ‘Call’ button and settling back down on the couch.

“ _Mr. Winfield?  It’s me, Doctor Redding.”_

“Oh, hello, I didn’t realized I missed something today?” he said, tucking the phone between his ear and shoulder as he clicked ‘Edit’ on the ‘Basic Information’ field on Bond’s profile.  He had to know _why_ at the very least.

Doctor Redding chuckled.  “ _It’s all right, Mr. Winfield, you didn’t miss anything important.  I was just calling to check in, see how you were doing, and make sure you still remembered our appointment on Monday_ ,” she said cheerfully.

Alex somehow got a vague sense of unease.  Cheerful doctors usually meant unhappy patients.  “I’m doing fine, just finishing up some work for my boss,” he replied, carefully typing out his short message, letting his instincts guide his fingers.  He frowned when he saw an unopened pop-up message in the lower right hand corner of the screen. 

“ _That’s good, that’s good.  I also wanted to let you know that the authorities released your personal possessions today, things that you had on your person the day of the accident,_ ” Redding said.  Before Alex could ask why the police had his things in the first place, she added, “ _They mistakenly assumed that your accident was a part of a larger series of crimes, and held onto it for evidence.  Yours turned out to be an isolated incident.”_

“Oh, okay.  I assume I will be getting those back when I come in for an appointment?  What are they exactly?” Alex asked as he clicked on the blinking message to read it.  His stomach sank when he read: _Warning: external probes detected._

MI6 had finally caught his presence.

 _Shit_.

Unaware of Alex’s current crisis, Redding continued talking.  “ _It’s just the clothes you were wearing at the time, and a few pounds that were in your pockets.  I’m going to lock it all away in my office so that you can pick it up when you come in on Monday.”_

“Eleven, right?” Alex said, fighting to keep his voice down even though he was typing furiously, attempting to pull together a code that would distract MI6 long enough for him to escape. 

“ _Yes, that is correct_.  _I will also want to talk to you about your sessions with Ella.  Are they helping at all?”_

“What?  Oh yeah, the sessions are helping,” he replied, hurriedly rearranging some of the firewall codes around the MI6 personnel database as a last ditch attempt of a distraction before disconnecting from the system all together.  He let out a slow breath when he realized that the latest warning had been for a hacker poking around his firewalls.  He discreetly checked his firewalls, repairing a few small damaged spots in his codes as he found them.  While the hacker hadn’t gotten in (and found out who and where he was), he or she had gotten pretty close.  He’d really have to fix his entry techniques before trying again.

 _“That’s good to hear,_ ” Redding replied, completely unaware with Alex’s close call with imprisonment for life.  “ _We’ll talk some more when you come in.”_

“All right, see you then,” Alex replied absently.  He powered down in his laptop and then tiredly rubbed his eyes.  Redding had been figuratively fussing over him for months now, it was times like these where he wondered if she usually played favorites or that was just how she worked with her patients.

Although it was going to be nice to get his things back from wherever they’d been.  Not that he even knew he was missing them in the first place.

William Fairbanks was going to be the next lead he was going to check after the National Gallery; the man had left Universal Exports the same day he did.  Moneypenny and/or Bond were far seconds, assuming he could even locate them. 

“Well, Missy, it’s not much, but it’s definitely _something_ ,” he said, looking up at the calico.  “Right?”

The cat, unhelpful as ever, merely yawned before curling up on the windowsill.

“That works too,” Alex muttered before getting up again to start his tea again, he was going to need it for tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for inaccuracies in this chapter.


	4. Chapter 4

_“You’re worried.”_

_James Bond glances at the other man.  He almost points out that Q was told that he had to dress like a civilian for this run to Paris, but then he realizes that Q pulls it off anyway every day.  “Of course I’m worried.  You’re going out into the field.”_

_Q sighs.  He’s grown in confidence and even in height a little since they’ve started dating, but occasionally Bond still sees the flickers of doubt.  “Agents double-oh one and two are heading out with me, and will be clearing out any hostiles before I get to work,” he finally says, adjusting his jacket collar before reaching for the ever present computer bag.  “This isn’t the first time I went somewhere without you.”_

_“But it’s the first time you’re going to a front line, and I won’t even be there.” Bond pulls Q closer, and the younger man lets him.  “Anything can happen.  How do I know you’ll come back?”_

_“Because at the end of the day, after I’ve asked myself the very same thing, you always come back.  But if it makes you feel better, I promise to come back home,” he says before Bond allows him to pull the agent closer for a kiss._

The promise continued to remain unfulfilled _._

* * *

“I need you to understand something before I kill you.”

The target’s eyes widened at the cold words before struggling uselessly against the firm grip he had the man in.  The cold winds of Chicago whipped around the two of them, and 007 had a brief memory flashback to another tall building on the other side of the world where an assassin was hanging on for dear life.  Unlike the assassin in Shanghai though, this one seemed interested in living.

Too bad it wasn’t going to happen.

“I may be a licensed killer, but even I know that it’s disgusting and  _wrong_  to enslave  _children_  and then send them to their deaths around the world,” 007 said coldly, tightening his grip around the man’s throat as he kept the man leaning backwards.  The man whimpered and tried to say something, but it came out as a gurgle instead.  “Now, I am going to ask you two questions, and your fate may depend on your answers.  Blink twice if you understand.”

The target stared at him with complete disbelief before slowly blinking twice.

“Where was this particular shipment going to and to whom?”

007 stepped back so that the target could have steadier footing, but kept a tight grip on the man’s neck.  Then he loosened his hand just enough so that the man could cough as air flowed back into his lungs, and then the man rasped, “Rat.  They were all going to the dealer, Rat.  He lives in Vienna.”

“Thank you.  And your employer’s name is?” 007 asked, bracing himself against the next gust of wind. 

For a moment, it looked like the target was going to refuse.  Then 007 reminded the man of his priorities by leaning him back again so that it would only take one more, strong gust of wind to send the man falling to his death.  “I’ll talk, I’ll talk, I don’t wanna die,” the man finally stammered out, blue eyes flickering around in worry.  Not that he would be able to see much, it was still too dark and dawn wasn’t for another six or so hours.  “Please.”

“Your employer’s name, if you will,” 007 calmly reminded him.

The man hesitated, and then nodded.  “His name is-”

Suddenly his entire body jerked forward, and his eyes widened as his mouth paled.  Swearing under his breath, 007 instinctively retreated to make himself less of a target in case the sniper wanted a second shot, but it never came.  He laid the dying man flat on his back, and then forced the other man to look at him.  Panic-filled blue eyes stared at him before the man choked, and 007 forced him onto his side so he wouldn’t choke to death on his own blood.  Kneeling down and placing the man’s body between him and the sniper, 007 snarled, “The  _name_ , if you don’t mind.”

The man stared at him for a few more moments before whispering, “ _Enigma”_  as the light drained from his eyes, his body sagging as the rattling in his chest fell silent.

007 silently cursed every deity he knew as he pushed away the dead man.  Another chase, another dead end.  He’d been on this mission for two and a half months, starting when the children of the British ambassador to the U.S. disappeared when walking home from school.  The CIA had been at the case longer, when Americans had been disappearing sporadically under similar circumstances across the country for six months.  Together, MI6 and the CIA had uncovered a human trafficking network that kept growing as the two agencies followed the line of contacts.  Unfortunately, it seemed as though the mastermind behind it all had caught on to the hunt, because each contact died almost as soon as the two agencies caught up to him or her.  007 counted it as lucky that they were at least able to get a name out of each one before he or she died, which meant that there was another link in the chain to follow, another contact, another operations manager. 

The agencies had yet to find the missing individuals themselves.

Mindful of the constantly present sniper, the one who never tried to kill 007, or Felix Leiter for that matter, 007 headed back to the rooftop door and slipped back inside the Marriot hotel he’d chased the target through.  Pulling his earpiece out and putting it back in, he said, “Target’s dead, same MO as the last five.”

“ _Damn_ ,” Q swore softly.  007 heard the clicking of computer keys, and then,  _“Do we have another name at least?”_

“Another call sign, ‘Rat’.  Currently in Vienna,” 007 replied emotionlessly as he descended the flight of stairs to the floor that he and Felix were currently staying on.  “I’ll stay here in Chicago until you give me the next address,” he added before pulling the earpiece out again and stashing it in his pocket.  He knew Q was going to let it slide, he was harder to bait than his predecessor because he’d been putting up with 007’s antics while he’d still been R. 

He swiped the hotel keycard into the slot and entered the room to find Felix Leiter examining the target’s meager collection of personal possessions spread out on the hotel bedspread.  “Phone was remotely wiped clean, it’s useless,” Felix said without looking up as he gestured to the mobile.  “I can’t decide if this person wants us to follow him or is genuinely trying to shake us off,” he said as James Bond began undoing the straps of the two weapon harnesses he’d been outfitted with, taking out the old and familiar Walther PPK and gently set the gun down on the TV table before dropping the rest of the harnesses.

“I think at this point, he’s taunting us.  He knows we’re on to him,” Bond replied as he picked the Walther up and moved to the other bed and began dissembling the weapon so he could carefully clean it.  Placing the separate pieces on a white cloth to protect them from the bedspread, Bond added, “The target really wasn’t helpful either, he told me who the next person in the chain was, but he didn’t know who the ringleader was.”

“Then who is the next contact?”

Bond shrugged.  “Someone named ‘Rat’ in Vienna.”

 _Clunk_.

Bond looked up from the disassembled gun with an arched eyebrow to find Felix pinching the bridge of his nose.  “Who is Rat?” he asked, narrowing his eyes as Felix grudgingly pulled his own mobile phone out.

“A very old thorn in our side.  He’s an American gunrunner, but the CIA turns a blind eye to him frequently because not only does he supply weaponry, but he also provides intel when the pay is good and the interrogator is excellent.  Idiot unfortunately falls frequently into the wrong crowd.  He doesn’t deal in slavery though, we monitor him from time to time and he hasn’t deviated from his usual habits since we last checked in, which was about a month ago,” Felix replied grimly before sending the text message.  “Just asked a superior about his status.  If you do go after him, leave him alive.  We’re still using him.”

“Can’t guarantee that if he tries to shoot me,” Bond replied mildly as he began carefully cleaning each piece of the Walther.  Q couldn’t accuse him of losing his equipment so much anymore because the Walther was still the same one he received about a year ago. 

For a man whose job that didn’t accommodate for sentimentality, this was the closest he could compromise for it.

“And the ringleader?” Felix asked.

“Called him ‘enigma’, not very helpful.  In other words, I don’t think he knows.  ‘Enigma’ means ‘mystery’, I know that much,” Bond replied, not looking up from his work.  It was soothing him down from the recent rush of the mission.

Felix was quiet for another moment before he said, “The word ‘enigma’ usually refers to a puzzle, or a puzzling person.”  The two men made eye contact before Felix added, “Puzzles could be anything from your standard jigsaw or to word games, picture games or even riddles.” 

Bond stared at him.  “I asked for a person,” he said.

“Then either the guy was messing with you, he really didn’t know who was in charge, or he named the guy that could be the same one that you’re hunting on the side,” Felix said, pointedly looking at the Walther before going back to the mess of personal effects.

Bond was silent as he considered the idea.  The Riddler, the man who had taken the ex-quartermaster and 002, had disappeared immediately after Paris, withdrawing from numerous hideouts all around the world.  Bond knew though that the man, wherever he was, was waiting though.  They all were.  While 002 had died, taking the identity of his killer to the grave – the stab wound had been a personal kill, no way a man could get that close without escaping unidentified, the quartermaster had survived, but to an extent. 

It had killed Bond inside, to learn that the quartermaster-Alex Winfield now, since he did not recall anything of MI6-was now gone.  Not from his life completely, Bond knew after forcing O’Reilly to explain it all that there was a chance Alex could regain bits and pieces of his memory, so there was always the small chance that he could return. 

It was heartbreaking and discouraging though to watch Alex stumble around in his new life, trying to find the footing that no longer existed for him.  O’Reilly personally didn’t think Alex would ever be able to regain his former abilities (something that everyone knew M was grateful for, since it meant he wouldn’t have to deal with another Silva in the near future), and the civilian doctor had the same diagnosis.

Bond just wanted Alex to come home.  But he knew Alex had never met James Bond before, so there was no room for him in this new life. 

Bond had retreated to the periphery at first, keeping a discreet eye on Alex for the first few months, watching his former lover slowly recover from his physical injuries.  Then it got too painful staying close to London, so he’d jumped at the chance to leave the country at the first opportunity.  It was an exhilarating sensation being back in the field, and allowed him to escape for once.

The only thing really holding him back from completely severing ties was the faint hope that Alex would remember despite the odds against him.

“Are we absolutely sure that this could be the Riddler behind the trafficking?” he finally asked, glancing at Felix.

“Well, we’ll never really know until we’ve had a nice chat with Mr. Rat.  Mind you, he might not know either since there might be a middle man, but I feel like we have a decent chance at getting somewhere since Rat is good at staying away from lethal situations,” Felix replied, making brief eye contact with Bond.  “How much CIA involvement would you recommend for the run to Vienna?” Felix asked then, looking back at his own work.

“Minimal.  Maybe only the agent he’s used to dealing with, someone he’s familiar with so that he doesn’t feel inclined to shoot as his first instinct,” Bond said, nodding to the phone.  “Do you have someone assigned to dealing with him?”

“Yeah, but she’s on maternity leave,” Felix said, shrugging.  “I’d go with you, but I already had to pull a  _lot_  of strings just to be out here.  As far as the NSA director is concerned, I’m out here for a family emergency.  And Rat doesn’t shoot first, he  _runs_  first.  He’s a complete coward, and he will only shoot when he’s cornered and he sees no other way out.  I suggest interrogating him right away once you catch him, he gets arrogant once he’s had more time to think up fake answers.”

“So-”

_Brrring!_

The two men froze, but Bond relaxed when the phone rang again.  “Mine,” he said, and pulled it out.  Hitting the call button, he said, “I’m not going to apologize for shutting you out, Q.”

“ _Good, because it’s not Q_ ,” Eve said; she sounded tired.  A quick glance at the hotel room clock told him that it was seven in the morning in London.  “ _Something’s come up, M wants you back here.”_

“Can’t, the mark was killed before he could tell me anything except the next step in the chain,” Bond replied, tucking the phone between his shoulder and ear so he could finish working on the Walther.  Once finished, he held it up and noted with satisfaction that the palm-print monitor was still fully charged.  “I’m going to need a flight ticket to Vienna as soon as possible,” he added as Felix began putting the numerous items into a bag to take back to Washington D.C. for further examination.  “Did you stay up all night?” he asked after a moment’s thought.

“ _Someone hacked MI6 last night.  At first Q thought it was a freak accident because the hacker disappeared almost immediately upon detection, and we couldn’t establish a link beyond Tanner’s computer.  But then we found that the hacker actually left a message on your basic profile.”_

Bond paused.  He knew that his basic profile contained nothing about his relationships, missions, or anything else he did or said that drove the psychologists crazy.  But the fact that he’d been singled out from several double-oh agents was worrisome all on its own.  “I thought that the previous Q managed to strengthen MI6’s cyber security to prevent accidental and intentional hacks like this from happening, and that Q now buffers said security every month,” he asked, his tone slipping back into business. 

 _“Well, it was someone familiar with our systems.  Q suspects that it might be one of Silva’s old associates, someone working for the Riddler now that Silva’s dead,”_  Eve replied grimly.

Even though he knew she couldn’t see it, Bond frowned.  He didn’t like that the same name had cropped up twice in less than an hour.  “What makes M or Q think it’s the Riddler?” he asked, putting the Walther on the nightstand so he could carefully fold the white cloth up again and pack it away.  Felix, he noticed, kept working but had definitely slowed down to listen more carefully to Bond’s end of the conversation.

“ _He left a message on your profile. It says ‘Come find me’, and M suspects that the Riddler is either back in London, or is re-familiarizing himself with the situation, knows that Winfield is vulnerable and is taunting you,”_ Eve said finally.  She took a sip of tea, and then added,  _“M wants you back in London in case the Riddler tries to pull anything.  He’s confident in double-oh six and double-oh nine to keep Winfield safe, but including you, there are five double-ohs out in the field right now.  You’re chasing the traffickers, five and four are handling a diplomatic hostage situation in Egypt, and eight and three are still dismantling the drug trade in Venezuela.  We’re a little exposed right now.”_

“How’s Lee handling his new work partner?” Bond asked, remembering the haunted 001, who suffered from claustrophobia now but soldiered on anyway.  He’d walked away from Paris with a deep shoulder wound; someone had thrown a knife at him, catching him in the shoulder and sending him backwards.  He didn’t know who the attacker was, and didn’t know if he’d be able to recognize the attacker if he saw him again.  The new 002 however was young compared to when Bond was recruited to the double-oh program, and managed to confirm within the first three weeks that he was a glutton for punishment. 

_“If you value your life, you will not mention Lee or Martin anywhere within earshot of M.  He’s furious with the two of them, Lee keeps pushing Martin away.  Martin keeps coming back for another round with Lee.  M doesn’t think he’ll be able to achieve the same rapport Lee had with Will.”_

“Of course not, they’d been recruited at the same time and trained together from the start.  Kind of hard to duplicate that with the new kid,” Bond said, leaning against the pillows. 

“ _You think?  Now, Q has managed to book two flights to Heathrow from O’Hare, you’ll have to do a layover.  You_ will  _be on that plane, understand?”_

“Fine.”  Bond hesitated, noting that Felix was once again on the phone, absorbed in his own conversation.  He hesitated, and then finally asked, “How is he?”

No need for clarification.  “ _Why don’t you come here and find out?_ ” Eve asked.  “ _You’re going to be done with the whole indecision/running away phase when you return because you and I are going to sit down and talk about that.  And double-oh nine is due to report in the day after tomorrow, sometime in the afternoon.  Ask her, she’s got more intel than double-oh six.”_

Bond rolled his eyes.  “I wasn’t running,” he replied dryly.

“ _No offense, but you sound as convincing now as you were the first time you told me that,”_ came the calm response.  “ _Now listen carefully.  You’re on the 17:30 flight from O’Hare to Logan, and then on the 23:30 flight to Heathrow from there.”_   She was quiet for a moment, and then said, “ _Sorry, M was asking as to where you were._ ”

“That’s all right.  I’m assuming the tickets have been emailed?” he asked, belatedly remembering that his computer was still in the room he’d originally rented for the night, several floors down from where he was at the moment. 

“ _Yes, and if you don’t come home as expected, M and O’Reilly are suspending you indefinitely, or so they told me._ ”

Bond knew Eve couldn’t see him rolling his eyes.  “I’ll let you know when I actually give a damn about what O’Reilly says.  All right then, I’ll see you when get back to London,” he said, hanging up and tossing the phone onto the bedspread.  Glancing at Felix, he said, “You’ll either have to wait for someone else from MI6 to join you or go out after Rat yourself, I’m being recalled to London, babysitting duty.”  As much as he trusted Felix, he wasn’t going to put his friend at risk.  “Let me know if you pick up anything else interesting,” he said, standing up and putting the Walther back into its holster.  “Might try and head out to Vienna on my own anyway, once the business in London is taken care of.”

“Like I said, try to keep Rat alive.  As much of a pain in the ass as he is, he’s still useful to the CIA.  But don’t tell him I said that, he’ll lord it over us for the rest of time if you do,” Felix warned.  “ _Then_  we’ll have to shoot him for good.”

“No promises,” Bond said as he picked up the harnesses.  “He’ll dictate his own fate.”  Then he slipped out into the hall without another word, already blending into the shadows that had always been a constant part of his life.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Decided to go with Bond instead for this chapter. :)


	5. Chapter 5

“I hacked into MI6 last night.”

Alex stepped back when Caroline choked on her coffee, spraying it everywhere on her computer keyboard.  He only moved once, to shield himself from the coffee by raising one side of his open parka.  He then waited patiently as she continued coughing before she cleared her throat.  Shakily setting down her coffee travel mug, she demanded, “I’m sorry, you did _what?_ ”

“Shhh,” Alex said, glancing over his shoulder at the group of four interns that had just walked into the lobby, Sandler talking loud enough to effectively drown Alex or Caroline out.  Still, he waited until the four had left before turning back to Caroline.  “I said I hacked into MI6 last night, I swear it was a complete accident.  I was looking through Universal Exports’ servers for any drivers, and I found that Universal Exports’ network linked to what I _thought_ was a satellite network.  When I cracked through the firewalls, I realized then that it was MI6,” he explained, leaning forward slightly but not enough to lose his glasses by accident.  “Universal Exports is a MI6 satellite.  I am willing to bet _anything_ that Universal’s CEO is in an alliance of some sort with MI6, maybe they cover up MI6’s mistakes,” he finished, pushing his glasses back onto his nose.

Caroline stared at him for a few minutes, as though he’d completely lost his mind.  “Yeah, that’s what I thought you said,” she said, shrugging with one shoulder.  “But _MI6?_   Are you absolutely mad?  You are so _damn_ lucky that they didn’t catch you last night, you would have never seen the light of day again.”

“That is precisely why I am telling you,” Alex replied, pulling his parka off and slinging it over his arm.  He was careful with the tablet that only he knew was tucked into the interior pocket.  “I don’t want to disappear with absolutely no chance of rescue or even of a little support… the idea scares me.  That I could just _go_ and no one would notice until it was too late.”

Caroline paused reaching for a wet cloth, and then turned to calmly regard him.  “You do realize, that as an American still trying to get UK citizenship, I’d be completely useless in the courts if it ever came down to that,” she finally said, looking at him in the eye.  “How much hacking do you plan to do?”

“Not a lot, and I wouldn’t get caught,” Alex replied before straightening.  “Who is in charge of Universal Exports?” he asked, turning enough to the side to keep the front door in view.

“Um, give me a moment to look it up,” Caroline said, making a face at her coffee-splattered keyboard as she reached for her laptop.  “Ew, gross…”

“I can clean that all up for you, if you want,” Alex offered, sensing the unexpected opportunity.

“Hah, no.  Nice try, I’ll just clean it up during my lunch break,” Caroline replied serenely before first adjusting her sweater, and then going back to typing. 

Alex nodded reluctantly before going back to staring out the window at the gray world outside.  It was still relatively a new sensation, being able to look outdoors while working, although it put him on edge far more often than not.  That was especially not helpful today since both fear and adrenaline had kept him up all night last night, and he felt unusually _alive_.  Last night though, he’d had to force himself to calm down a bit in order to determine his best next move (which did not consist of pulling a harmless prank on the MI6 staff by switching the leader, M’s security access with that of the newest recruit), and he decided that meant telling Caroline in case he disappeared one day, he could still have a chance at being freed, or at the very least disappearing into the dark abyss that was MI6 prisons.  The three names he’d pulled off during his hunt had been written down on a notepad, which in turn was stuffed to the back of a kitchen drawer.  The address, the one that had been on his Universal Exports profile before he deleted it, was stored in the tablet that he kept close at his side now.  He was planning to do a little investigating once he’d set the interns down with busy work. 

“Hey, I’ve got something,” Caroline said suddenly, catching Alex’s attention.  Brushing aside some dark brown hair, she said, “Ryan Parker is the CEO of Universal Exports, Eve Moneypenny is his second-in-command.  Parker is something of a recluse though, he’s notorious for skipping out on inter-corporate get-togethers, and Moneypenny is no better.  It is because of Parker’s scarcity that makes it difficult for Mr. Putnam to chew him out for something or another,” Caroline said, glancing up at Alex from behind her screen.  “And you call us Americans anti-social…”

“Ten quid says he’s hiding on purpose because he doesn’t want to risk publicizing any relationships with MI6,” Alex said, smirking. 

“Make it ten _bucks_ and we have a deal.  Might be cheaper for you in the long run,” Caroline said as she continued exploring around Universal Exports’ website.  “Did you tweak anything, while you were in the MI6 system?” she asked, lowering her voice as Holton and Williams came in, deeply engaged in conversation.

Alex waited for the interns to leave before he said, “No, they caught onto me too fast.  If I could, I would have switched M’s security accesses with that of a recruit, but like I said, no time.”  The lie came to him smoothly, but apparently was still believable because Caroline nodded.

“Good, provoke them any further and we really might have a problem keeping you out of jail,” she said, winking before going back to the computer screen.  Sighing, she said, “Is there anything else you’d like me to do before I release you back to your work?”

“Yes, swear to me you will never tell another living soul about what I told you about hacking into MI6,” Alex said.  “I already feel guilty about dragging you into this, I don’t want to affect anyone else.”

“That and you know that the more people who know, the more likely your secret will slip out,” Caroline replied pleasantly.  She sobered almost immediately though, and then said, “Alex, cross my heart and hope to die, I swear I’ll never tell another soul what you just told me about hacking into MI6.”

“Thanks, Caroline, I really appreciate your silence,” he said, winking before turning and heading toward the stairs.  “Try to have some fun up here, greeting people,” he said over his shoulder before he started heading down the stairs.

“Don’t count on it!” Caroline shouted after him, to which he just laughed.

It was thankfully quieter in the IT Department today than it was the day before.  Even the interns, although they were all there, were actually working quietly.  Alex did catch Holton kicking Sandler under the table right as the latter was about to speak, but the interns otherwise left each other alone.

The permanent staff of the department was still filtering in, some with coffee or tea, others with paperwork.  No food though, Andrews had been adamant about the ‘No Food’ rule from Alex’s first day, and as much as he enjoyed his new power over them, Alex wasn’t about to abuse or relax that one rule, he understood the necessity of a clean workspace despite the fact that he could still function in a messy one as well.

Setting his parka down carefully on Andrews’ workstation, Alex headed over to his own little workstation, primarily the ‘Reject Drawer’, where he stored old laptops and hardware that were usually abandoned once the owners upgraded to a newer, faster model.  Alex, when he’d first arrived to Royal International Exports, had taken to repairing and tinkering with them in his spare time, improving processing speeds and upgrading programs.  He kept them close at hand for the odd days when he needed a second computer or, like today, his usual laptop was in questionable condition but he needed to work and couldn’t check on the problem that instant.

He frowned slightly when he found a new reject in the drawer, but shrugged it off in favor of another one.  He’d have to take a look at the new one during his break, there wasn’t any time now.

Alex was in the middle of synching the tablet, now hooked into the networks, with the borrowed laptop when Emma approached him from wherever she’d been sulking up until now.  “Alex, there’s been a glitch in the system that needs fixing,” she said, happily depositing a large stack of paperwork on the workstation.  She eyed the borrowed laptop and asked, “Where is your usual computer?”

“Broke it accidentally last night, I haven’t really had a chance to look at it yet,” he said without looking up at her.  “Where are the affected areas in RIE’s systems?”

“Accounting and in the database.  Needless to say, Mr. Lloyd is furious and thinks that one of the interns hacked it to increase their own pay.  Mr. Putnam wants it all fixed and the system bolstered against further errors,” Emma replied.  “Putnam won’t be in today, he has a series of meetings elsewhere.”  She turned to leave, but then abruptly stopped and turned around again.  “Oh, and Mr. Putnam is looking for a hacker,” she added.

“A hacker?  What does he need a hacker for?” Alex said, glancing up at her with a frown, subsequently missing the pop-up alert that the synchronization was complete.

“Mr. Putnam doesn’t need a hacker, but another company does.  They lost their chief technician a few months ago, and his laptop apparently had extremely critical data on it.  Their IT department is too scared to try and crack the security encryption themselves, they’ve already tried and they apparently have one last chance before the data is wiped completely,” Emma said, shrugging.  “Mr. Putnam says to take your time, but he’d rather that the hacker came from this company, not off the streets.”

“That makes sense.”  Alex pulled up Google Maps on his tablet while pulling up the network diagnostics on the laptop.  “I’ll see what I can do.  When does Mr. Putnam need-”

“What address are you looking up?” Emma interrupted, nodding at the tablet display.

Alex stared at her.  “ _What?_ ”

Gesturing impatiently to Google Maps, Emma said, “I get around London a lot, I usually help Andrews on those days he has to travel across the city.  So I was just asking about which address you were looking up.”

Alex dug into his trouser pocket for the sticky note he’d prepared in case he needed a distraction, using the first address that came to mind after a few minutes of thinking about it.  Emma took it from him, studied the address, and then frowned.  “Where the hell did you pick this up?” she asked, glancing up at him.

“Return address,” he replied, carefully watching her expression as she studied the address again.

“Destroy the letter, it came from that crazy consulting detective.  Who knows what the hell he’s up to now,” she said, handing the sticky note back over.  “He hardly writes to _anyone_ that’s outside his usual little circle, so I suspect that you’re either involved in a case, or he’s experimenting on you.  Trust me on that one,” Emma added as she adjusted her grip on the other papers she was holding.

“All right then,” Alex said, setting the note down on the workstation table.  “Oh, and Emma?” he asked as she started to leave. 

“Yes?  I’m not getting you tea if that’s what you’re about to ask,” Emma countered, pausing in her tracks.

Alex bit back a flash of irritation, but admittedly, he did like the idea of having tea close at hand as he worked.  “I was only going to ask if you get Holton and Sandler for me,” he replied calmly.

Emma hesitated, and Alex thought for a moment that she was going to undermine his authority even more.  But, instead of questioning him further, she turned and headed over to the Intern Corner to fetch the two he’d requested.

Alex kept his face carefully blank, but mentally, he was grinning broadly.  He knew he had to keep the power going from going to his head, especially since his was a temporary position, but the rush was addictive and pleasantly familiar.  If he could hack into MI6, where else could he get into?  How much could he make the codes work for _him_?  Granted, he’d have to hack into MI6 one more time, make sure it wasn’t a fluke or their techs hadn’t been having an off day or something like that.  He’d also have to find another computer to bounce his signal from, to make sure the MI6 techs didn’t recognize him right away, perhaps even a computer that someone else owned.  It would have to be a person that he knew had a set routine, someone who was comfortably settled in a system that Alex could easily slip in and out of unnoticed.  It would also have to be a person who lived close by, so Alex could quickly retreat to safety and decrease the risk of chase, the last chase had ended rather badly-

“Sir?”

Alex flinched at the hesitant voice, accidentally startling Sandler.  “I’m sorry, what?” he said, glancing at the American.

“Um, Emma said you wanted to talk to us?” Sandler said awkwardly.

“Oh, right.  It’s something of an entertaining activity since there are no actual tasks available at the moment.   I want you all to split into two groups of three, and then you will have the rest of today and tomorrow morning to work on it.  Winners get a free lunch tomorrow.” Pulling out six sheets, he gave three to Holton, three to Sandler, “Those sheets outline your objectives.  I am assuming that you’re all mature enough to split yourselves up into groups.”

“Where would lunch be?” Sandler asked.

Alex arched an eyebrow.  “Where would you like to go?”

The two Americans glanced at each other, and then both bolted back to the Intern Corner, nearly tripping over each other in the process.  Alex shook his head as he went back to work; the second free food became a factor in any equation, cooperation was all but guaranteed when it came to a majority of Americans.

“Do they ever do any actual work?” Emma asked, reappearing at his side. 

“Aren’t you the one who’s always complaining that they’re underfoot?” Alex asked her, silently wishing he had a task for her, just to get rid of her so he could work in peace.

“But I don’t like the idea of paying them to do whatever,” she replied, scowling.

Alex bit back a sigh.  “Miss Collins?”

She started in surprise.  “Yes?” she asked, barely remembering in time to drop the ‘sir’ just to spite him.

“Are you running this department?” he asked patiently, glancing at her.

She frowned.  “Um, no, sir.”

“Are you in an administrative position that otherwise outranks me?” he asked mildly, turning to face her now.

“Well, no, but-”

“In that case, your complaints have been duly noted.  Do keep in mind that yes, Andrews may be in charge, but I was appointed in his place while he was out, so that puts me as in charge of this department,” Alex said calmly as he went back to the desk and scribbled a note on the other side of the sticky note.  “Please run this up to Miss Bright.  I am expecting a response,” he said, handing it over.  Caroline wouldn’t forgive him for the extra work, but part of the errand’s purpose was to get rid of Emma for a little while. 

“Yes… _sir_ ,” she said through clenched teeth before taking the folded sticky note and leaving the room.

_Finally_.

Waking the tablet up again, he pulled the real address up from the tablet’s memory.  A quick glance around the room showed that everyone else was too busy to focus on him, so he could work in peace.  He’d figured last night that even if his Universal Exports profile was a fake, the address had to have come from _somewhere_.

Switching to ‘Satellite View’ on Google Maps, he typed in the address, and then zoomed in as far as the indicator could go without going to ‘Street View’ (an option, he noticed, that wasn’t available).  He studied the well-populated residential street, the houses or flat complexes close together before activating the ‘Get Directions’ feature.  First he located RIE’s headquarters, and then calculated the distance between the two locations.  It was too far to walk, even if he changed the starting location to his own flat.  There wasn’t even a Tube station nearby, so he couldn’t have even used that as an excuse for being in the wrong part of town.  Going by car was out of the question; he couldn’t pass for a lost tourist either since he knew he sounded like any other Londoner.  He tried to sharpen the focus of the image in front of him, but gritted his teeth when he realized that he didn’t have quite the cutting edge equipment for that…

“Alex.”

He flinched, startled that Caroline had seemingly appeared out of nowhere, he hadn’t realized how much time had passed.  But she had the Earl Grey he’d requested.  “Caroline, I’m glad you got my message,” he said, happily accepting the mug as Caroline stepped around him to get a better look at his tablet.  “More importantly, you’re actually down here,” he teased.

“Yeah, I’d like to first cuff Emma for refusing to help and then I’d like to talk to the idiot who forgot to install an elevator that went all the way up and all the way down, there’s a reason why I hate board meetings up at the top,” Caroline said, studying the screen.  “Alex…what are you doing?”

“Looking up an address I found last night on the Universal Exports database.  Turns out I had a profile there, but I deleted _that_ -”

“ _Alex_.”

He stopped speaking the moment she placed a hand on his, both resting on the tablet.  “Alex, what is going on?  In the six months I’ve known you, you never really put effort into recovering your memories.  Why now?” she asked quietly.

Alex hesitated, and then gestured for her to follow him out into the hall.  She waited patiently as he shut the door behind the two of them and moved away from the door and down the hall to a small alcove that he’d found early on in his employment here.  “I’ve been having these weird dreams for three weeks now,” he finally admitted.  When Caroline didn’t say anything, he said, “A lot are pretty bad, full of blood and people dying and things like that.  Sometimes I’m not there, I’m watching it all from a distance, but there are other times where I’m in the thick of it.  I’m sometimes alone in an unfamiliar flat, but there’s usually another man with me, the same one night after night, and I _know_ somehow that it’s all right, that I’m safe.”

Caroline was quiet for a moment.  “When did this all start?” she asked.

“After we went to the National Gallery, when you wanted to talk to the manager about showcasing your photography collection,” he admitted.  “I didn’t tell you before because I didn’t want to burden you, but it’s starting to get overwhelming for me.  Ms. Thompson can’t prescribe sleep medication, she’s not a psychiatrist, and I have a sneaking suspicion that Doctor Redding won’t either.”  Pinching the bridge of his nose, he said, “I had a moment of clarity last night, when I was waiting for MI6 to come knocking.  I thought that the nightmares would continue so long as I didn’t do anything about it, that if I can separate reality from fantasy, I’ll stop having nightmares and I can move on again.”

More silence.  Then Caroline slowly shook her head, heaving a sigh as she did.  “Alex, careful what you wish for.  I mean, I won’t stop you from looking, but what if you don’t like what you find?” she asked.  “Sometimes a person’s personality can be altered by memory loss, what will you do if you’re horrified at what you find?”

“I like to think that I’d have enough maturity to handle the outcome in a calm and collected manner.  If I do decide to turn evil however, I’ll give Missy to you, I refuse to be the stereotypical villain with the pet cat,” he said, a grin twitching on his face.

Caroline managed a small smile.  “Yeah, let’s not have any evil overlord attitudes, MI6 would have a _real_ reason to hunt you down then, and while I am sure I can save you from assassins, I’m lost in the bureaucratic system if it came down to that instead,” she said, smiling a little.

“Ten quid says I can outrun _anyone_ from MI6,” Alex challenged.

“How about I take your word for it?  That’s one bet I don’t want to test.  You can do whatever you want, just leave MI6 alone from here on out.”

“You’re no fun, but all right.  I’ll leave MI6 out of my searches,” he said reluctantly.  While he was sorely tempted to keep poking MI6, Caroline did have a legitimate point.  “I promise,” he added, hoping to calm her down.

“Start by getting rid of that address and any other information you picked up last night, I don’t want to lose you just because you got a little curious and bit off more you could handle,” she said, hugging herself slightly.  She looked scared even, for a split second that Alex still caught.  “ _Please_ , Alex.”

Alex quietly regarded her.  He didn’t really know her all that well beyond what she and her RIE files told him, but he’d always gotten the sense that she was a loner and unhappy with either her job or general situation in life.  She had no family or friends that he knew of, even in the United States, and she never asked much of him.  He wondered briefly if she’d seen a kindred spirit in him, prompting her to reach out to him all those months ago.

He couldn’t drag her any further into his messes.

“All right, I’ll delete everything that I found last night.  Promise,” he said, smiling softly, hoping to console her. 

It worked.

Caroline smiled, and then said, “Thank you, Alex.”

He sighed and nodded in acknowledgement.  “Excuse me, I need to get back to work,” he said before stepping around her and started walking back toward his domain in the IT Department.

Caroline didn’t stop him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit 3/30/13: Chapters 4 and 5 were switched.


	6. Chapter 6

Somewhere en route between Chicago and Boston, it occurred to Bond that Eve would undoubtedly be waiting for him at Heathrow, especially if Q-Branch was still monitoring his progress to make sure he actually followed orders this time around instead of going to Vienna anyway.  Not one to disappoint his handlers, Bond waited until he arrived in Logan Airport before taking the phone, which carried the incriminating tracker, and slipped it into an unsuspecting teenager’s backpack.  He was careful to stay out of view of the airport’s security cameras: no point in blowing the game that early. 

Bond gave Q-Branch five days to catch on, three if Q remembered the last time he’d pulled that prank on Q’s predecessor.

_Don’t give me that look.  You’re not that sorry._

_How about I show you how sorry I am then?_

_Not one of your better pick up lines, but it’ll do._

Alex had then put up a feeble protest for appearances’ sake, but he was just as eager to welcome Bond home as Bond was to have him back.  

The fragile – _fading_ – memories kept him company on the flight home from Boston to London, little snippets of stolen fragmented images that he’d never thought he would have to fight so hard to keep.  Alex had survived the first year mark of their relationship, making theirs the longest steady relationship Bond had ever been in so far.

He’d grown complacent, assuming that Alex was safe.  He’d foolishly lowered his guard, and Alex paid for it.

The familiar December gray skies of London greeted him as the plane touched down in Heathrow on Friday morning, darkening his mood even further.  Pulling out his personal mobile out, he sent out a text message to one of the four unlabeled numbers in the contact list.  He wasn’t worried about Q-Branch finding the phone signal; Alex had ensured that it was untraceable to all except a special program on his now sealed laptop.  He had no idea where the Q-Branch-issued phone was at the moment, but hopefully it was doing its job of keeping the staff busy while he casually sauntered through Heathrow to the terminal exit after disembarking the plane with an easy smile toward the stewardess.  He was careful though in Heathrow; one disturbance, and Q would be turning his attention to him and Eve would be hunting Bond down faster than another double-oh.

At least that double-oh wouldn’t be 006. 

Alec Trevelyan was waiting patiently amongst the other people waiting for family or clients.  He was texting when Bond approached him, but put the phone away right as Bond came right up to him.  “That was Eve.  Apparently you went off on a jaunt to New Zealand, they’re checking both New Zealand and Vienna to make sure you didn’t do any unauthorized trips,” he said as he caught one of the carry-on bags that Bond threw at him. 

“Oh, is that where the kid was going?  Hope he enjoys his trip,” Bond said, following Alec out of the Arrivals area and toward the car park entrance.  “What now?  I’m not reporting in until Monday.”

“Takeaway at my flat for lunch, Tess can’t stand one of her coworkers so we can’t use a conference room for lunch, something about an overly smug intern.  Where were you thinking of staying anyway?” Alec asked conversationally as the two of them moved in the security cameras’ shadows. 

His tone was light, but Bond understood the unspoken question.  “Your MI6-issued flat, did you ever clean that one out?” he asked, glancing at Alec.

“Yeah, but as a warning, I’m kicking you out in four months,” Alec said as the two approached a gray Ford Focus.  Popping the boot and tossing the carry-on into it, he added, “Q _might_ send a retrieval team after you, New Zealand apparently hasn’t got much in the way of CCTV cameras.”

“Don’t I have six or seven trackers all over my body?  All of which Q-Branch issued?” Bond asked, frowning as he tossed the other bag into the boot before slamming the lid shut.

“ _Alex_ issued those, and they’re all wired to his computer.  Which Q-Branch lost a while ago, they’re still looking for it,” Alec said, looking pointedly at Bond.

“It’s not my fault they were too busy squabbling to keep track of their equipment,” Bond said, reaching for the door handle.  “I’ve noticed you don’t have the sports car today,” he said, frowning when he found the door to be locked.

“Nobody at the complex where I live has one either, Q figured that I would stick out too much if I had one,” Alec replied.  “Tess however has an Aston Martin, which is completely unfair since she barely drives it while I go to MI6 every day,” Alec said, shooing Bond from the driver’s side before unlocking the doors and getting in.  “This is England, wrong side.  Although imagine what Tess had to go through when she’s traveling,” he said after Bond got into the passenger seat.

“Then no wonder she doesn’t drive much now.”  Bond knew that Tess was infamous for her quick temper, which, combined with her less than ideal current mission parameters, MI6 was treading very, very carefully with the female double-oh.  But despite the setbacks, she stuck through it, remaining stubbornly loyal to Winfield as they all did; it was hard to break that sort of bond after years of relying on a person for safety and keeping him in a high level of trust at all times.  002 was the only exception, the kid was new and had never worked under Winfield before.  Hell, he hadn’t worked under Winfield’s successor long enough to establish the same level of trust in their working relationship as the successor did with the other double-ohs.

“Where are we headed now?” he asked as Alec pulled into the stream of traffic.

“Royal International Exports.  Tess, remember?  We’ve got something of a system worked out when it comes to Winfield, she watches him during the workday, and I monitor him during nights and weekends.  Not that he really _does_ anything of note, M doesn’t think he’ll ever be concerned with MI6 ever again,” Alec replied, shrugging with one shoulder.  “But Alex has been so quiet on my watch that it makes me wonder how he was ever perceived as a threat to MI6 in the first place, when we first hunted him down.”

“Wasn’t it Tess who found him in the first place?  Before he was initially hired?” Bond asked, frowning at his friend.

“Her and Will actually.  And that was after his university roommate tipped us off about six times to his different locations after he went to ground, and after six days of playing his game.  Will was pissed off with him for a while after.  You and I were still chasing that crazy Italian in Sicily at the time,” Alec said, grimacing at the reminder of the Italian mission; the Italian mafia boss had outsmarted the two of them only to lose in the end when he decided that the double-ohs weren’t as much of a threat anymore and left them alone with one guard. 

“Why did the roommate sell him out?  Alex never mentioned this,” Bond said, glancing at his friend.

“That’s because he never found out exactly how we found him.  Apparently his roommate was paying him ten quid for every day he antagonized MI6 and stayed a free man, but after three weeks of that, it was starting to become a tad costly for the roommate.  So he took the easy route and tried to sell Alex out, but it didn’t exactly work as planned since Alex kept evading us for a little while after,” Alec said, shrugging.  “Mind you, I’m hearing this secondhand from Tess, she was telling me what behavioral tells to keep an eye out for.  It’s when he starts getting cocky that we need to get concerned again.”

“How has he been lately?”

“Skittish, quiet, keeps to himself a lot.  That girl from Q-Branch, your once rival for his affection, says that he doesn’t acknowledge her beyond a ‘hello’ on the rare occasions they’re in the lobby together.  Which is more than I can say for me, we don’t usually see each other and when we do, he’s quiet.”  Shaking his head, Alec said, “I’m trying to hold out in faith here, but it’s hard to do that without seeing any change.  O’Reilly did a little studying on retrograde amnesia, to refresh his memory, and apparently there’s a chance that Alex’s whole personality did a complete turn around.”

“Has Tess seen anything to prove otherwise?”

“Apparently she’s just keeping him out of trouble at the moment, she tried to knock him down a couple notches the other day,” Alec said, smirking. 

Bond glanced at him, interest piqued.  “And?” he prompted.

“He all but pulled rank on her.  She almost retaliated as she would if it was Q giving orders, but she found another way around Alex.  She thinks his temporary promotion is getting to his head a little bit,” Alec said as he pulled up to the solemn bricked face of Royal International Exports.

“ ‘Temporary promotion’?” Bond repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“Double-oh two stole Tess’s Aston Martin to chase a target a couple nights ago, he hit a few civilians in the process.  Alex’s department boss was one of those civilians that got hit, so Putnam put Alex in charge until the department boss comes back,” Alec said, putting the car into idle as they waited.  Shaking his head, he added, “Tess and I have a running bet as to how long it will take Alex to finally crack from the tedium of working in an IT department and having to obey the law.  So far I’m winning, apparently the other day he set the interns against each other in a competition.  One group had to hack the program that the other group came up with, and the program group had to defend their program.  The hackers won, so they’re getting free lunch today,” Alec said, grinning.  “And I’ll be getting fifty quid at the end of the month.”

Bond snorted softly, remembering a similar task that Alex had set Q-Branch with in the months following Operation Skyfall.  “I remember when he challenged the Q-Branch staff to make a weapon that was so indestructible that even _I_ couldn’t lose or destroy it,” he said, grinning.

“Yeah, I remember you really didn’t care because it was the one piece of tech you had permission to try and destroy,” Alec said, suppressing a laugh.

“Ironically, it was the only piece of equipment I ever put effort into bringing back unscathed, just to spite them.  Alex was furious,” Bond said, grinning now at the memory.  Alex’s face had gone an interesting shade of pink before he’d slammed his head against the workstation in frustration, and Bond had spent the rest of the day needling him mercilessly, something that ended when M told him to knock it off since the rest of MI6 would have to suffer an irate quartermaster.

Bond leaned back against the seat, silently watching the RIE employees spilling out onto the pavement as the lunch break began, some heading to the curb to hail cabs while others headed to the car park behind the company.  Alec had parked on the opposite side of the road, visible enough so that Tess would be able to see them without Alec exposing any more of the car to those on the front steps.  Bond had briefly forgotten that while he was on some sort of enforced leave, Alec and Tess were still technically working.

He almost missed Alex Winfield completely.  The former MI6 quartermaster was dressed in business attire, looking like a complete stranger to Bond.  Alex was reading something on his tablet, stepping around the other RIE employees with practiced ease.  His ever-present computer case, a new one that R had purchased when it became official that Alex was going to be integrated back into civilian life, was slung around his shoulder as he adjusted the shoulder strap and pushed his glasses back on his nose.  Despite his campaign to get Alex to dress professionally every now and then, Bond found that it was an unsettling feeling to see him now because it wasn’t Alex, it wasn’t his Q.   His Q wore cardigans and the same outfits more than one day in a row because he worked around the clock and forgot to take care of himself.

Despite all that however, Bond still found his fingers resting lightly on the car door latch.

Tess Lawson meanwhile stepped outside the front doors in a flurry of activity not too far behind, another woman close behind her.  She turned around for a moment to snap something back at the other woman before walking toward them, her coat billowing out behind her ominously as employees scattered to get out of her way.  Bond hoped that the victim of her ire was still alive and unharmed; the paperwork was always a pain to fill out later.

“Hello boys.  How were the States, James?” she asked, opening the door and smoothly sliding into the backseat.

“Usual.  Felix says hello.”  Bond turned to face forward again as Tess pulled her heels off and switched them out for the more comfortable flats while Alec started up the car again.  “Bad day today?” he asked, eyeing the tension lines in her neck and mouth.

“You have no bloody idea, I don’t know how Eve does it, catering to M’s demands day after day.  Maybe it’s because she doesn’t have to deal with bloody interns.  I don’t know why the hell Royal International has interns,” Tess grumbled, rubbing her right ankle and lower leg.  “They don’t bloody _do_ anything except get underfoot and drain money that could be spent elsewhere…”

“Easy Tess, not all of us have two generous incomes at the moment,” Alec said as he navigated through the London traffic.

“Are you kidding?  Lloyd, the chief accountant, is docking _everyone’s_ pay by a half until whomever glitched the system confesses to doing it,” Tess said, leaning back against the window and stretching across the backseat.  “This is the first break I’ve had in days,” she finally said, closing her eyes.  She then turned to glance at Bond, and then asked, “What were you doing in Chicago anyway?”

While missions could be labeled as ‘classified’ and treated it as such, Bond had ensured that both Alec and Tess could get through to him, which both double-ohs naturally took as an invitation to at least get an idea of the mission itself.  While Q wasn’t as lenient as his predecessor when it came to turning a blind eye to snooping special agents, he still occasionally ‘slipped’ when heavily involved with a mission…such as Bond’s. 

“Human traffickers in the United States, they took the British ambassador’s children.  Americans apparently have been disappearing long before then, the only pattern being that the targets were able-bodied individuals.  Trail ended in Chicago though, someone has been shooting the coordinators before they can talk too much.  For some reason, the sniper continued to spare Felix and me,” Bond said, glancing at Alec, who was frowning.  “Next man on the chain is an American in Vienna, his name is Rat.  Felix asked that I not kill him,” Bond said, glancing at Tess, he knew she’d had dealings with the CIA before.  “Familiar with him?”

She sighed before nodding.  “He’s got a crush on me, asked for my number and everything.  I told him to give me his and I’d text him, he thinks I’m the CIA’s British liaison, and that my name is Emily Connors,” she said, straightening as Alec pulled up to the red light.  “That was over a year ago, and I still haven’t sent him that text.”

“Send it, and see if you can arrange a meeting here in London,” Bond said, already thinking.  He could continue following the trail even while grounded, especially if Felix’s words were true and Rat was smart enough to avoid death.  Then he could continue to keep an eye on Alex at the same time, and do whatever it was M wanted him to do at MI6, even though he hadn’t heard of threats to the agency recently.  But then again, it was M, so there had to be an ulterior motive.

“He won’t come if it’s only you though, it will have to be the two of us.  Sometime this weekend, perhaps,” Tess said, pulling her phone out to study the display.  “As far as I know, Alex won’t be doing much this weekend, so we set something up this Saturday evening,” she said finally, scrolling through her calendar.

“Won’t that be too soon?” Alec asked, glancing back at her before focusing on the road when the light changed again.

“I told you, he’s infatuated with me.  Ten quid says he drops everything to come up from Vienna,” she said, winking as she typed in a number. 

“How about that other half of your paycheck?” Alec suggested.

“Hah, no.”

Alec glanced at Bond before he said, “What are your plans while in London?”

“See how far in the trafficking case I can get from here, and figure out what it is that M really wants,” Bond replied carefully, he knew what Alec was probing for.  “As for Alex, I might check in every now and then.  I still don’t want to pose a threat to his safety, not until I have a better sense of where the Riddler is, and what he’s up to lately.”

Alec nodded, but Bond could sense Tess’s disapproval radiating from the backseat.  “Unless you have a better suggestion?” he asked, glancing back at her.

She sighed.  “I’ll explain when we get to the café, there’s quite a bit to it,” she said wearily, leaning back in her seat. 

“We’re going to my flat, we’re getting takeaway,” Alec said, frowning at her in the rearview mirror.

“Sorry, that won’t work.  I have to be available in case Putnam calls about the intern that tripped up the stairs, poor dear,” Tess said, unashamedly waving her phone at the two of them before going back to the phone’s display.  “I may have to leave quickly to help out where needed.”

“Understood.  Piccadilly Circus it is, then,” Alec said.  Glancing at Bond, he asked, “Any preferences?”

“Nothing that has American influences in it, I’m sick of their food as it is, if it can even be called that,” Bond said, scowling as Alec snickered.

“Don’t knock the food until you’ve lived there for several years,” Tess scolded, and frowned when the two men only laughed.  “Fine.  See if I keep you in the loop about Rat, James.”  Stuffing the phone back into her handbag, she added, “All kidding aside though, James.  I’m worried about Alex, I heard him saying that he’s not sleeping well anymore because he’s having nightmares of events he doesn’t remember, and I don’t know how far he’ll go to figure out what is going on.”

“I understand that,” Bond countered. “But we can’t be the only ones watching him right now, so we have to be careful.  That’s why I’m not going to get close to him for now,” he said, careful to cover the faint pain; he knew that as much as it was going to kill him, he was about to go back to watching from a distance, his Square One.  The faint whispers of doubt, the ones that resurfaced whenever he remembered a lost lover, silently reminded him of the death he always brought with him, and he wondered if perhaps Alex was better off not remembering him after all.

“We’ll have to take it day by day, and I think that Alex can handle getting lunch without something happening,” Alec said, glancing at Tess as though for confirmation.  “We can plot our next move over lunch, James said he wants to stay incognito until Monday, so he won’t be able to do much.”

“Duly noted.  Is this something I’m going to hear about when I go check in with M later this afternoon?” Tess asked patiently, raising an eyebrow.

“Most likely, but then again, M always complains about things I do.  Or not do, as the case may be,” Bond replied with a straight face.

“Dear Lord, what have I gotten myself into with you two?” Tess asked, rolling her eyes as she lifted her arms as though silently pleading to the higher power.

“Stick around, and you’ll find out exactly what,” Alec said, grinning as he pulled into the car park and shut the car off.

Bond just rolled his eyes before he got out of the car; more in the mood to eat proper food again than to listen to Alec and Tess bicker.

Everything else could wait.

 


	7. Chapter 7

“Missy, get down from there!”

The calico hissed before jumping down from the dining table, darting underneath the sofa right as Alex’s mobile buzzed with an incoming text message.  Muttering to himself, he stepped around the kitchen counter and picked up the mobile to find that it was Caroline with an update on Sandler.  The American was going to be in the hospital for a few days, and the doctors weren’t sure if he was going to be able to go into work on Monday.  Caroline still had no idea which of the female staff had done this to him; Sandler had been alone when, drunk on his victory over Holton in Alex’s challenge, he attempted to kiss one of the female staff in celebration. 

He ended up with a broken nose and had been curled in the fetal position when the other interns found him and texted Alex to alert him to the accident.  Sandler couldn’t even identify his attacker since it had happened so quickly.  Someone had erased the footage of it relatively quickly, so RIE security couldn’t indentify the culprit. 

Caroline turned out to be helpful about it, she didn’t raise a fuss when Alex found her at the McDonalds near Piccadilly Circus and asked her to accompany Sandler to the hospital.  “Just as well, since my doctor is there,” she remarked dryly before leaving to go find the intern.

Texting his thanks for the update to Caroline, Alex headed back to the kitchenette in order to salvage what was still edible from his microwaveable dinner.  Distracted by both the situation with Sandler and poking around the Internet, he’d forgotten about the food until it was too late to fully save it.

Sitting on the other end of the small counter was his open laptop, his regular one.  Driven out of his mind with boredom, trying to figure out the best way to continue pursuing his memories, he’d succumbed to the temptation of looking up the three names he’d found while poking around in Universal Exports’ records.  He’d mentally compromised with Caroline, figuring that so long as he upheld the ‘no hacking’ part of their bargain, he wouldn’t feel quite as guilty about not deleting everything he’d found.

In the end though, he hit three successive dead ends, two of which were literally dead.

The first, William Fairbanks, had died seven months ago.  A retired officer from the Royal Army, he’d been working at Universal Exports when there was a freak accident in Marseilles, and he’d been one of three casualties.  The other two remained unnamed, the investigative report from Marseilles simply said that one barely survived and the other managed to escape with one major injury.  Fairbanks left behind a wife and two daughters and an infant son, and Alex nursed an odd sense of deep-seated guilt before he mustered the courage to move on to the next one.

All he could find on Eve Moneypenny was her contact information, an email and phone number.  After mulling it over for twenty minutes, he decided that he wasn’t quite ready for communication just yet. 

The third man, James Bond, was also dead.  Alex had found the naval commander’s obituary in an obscure corner of the BBC website.  The body had never been recovered, something that evidently hadn’t mattered in the end as he had no surviving family.  Written and published back in August of 2012, the obituary was short and to the point.  It said nothing about his job or what he’d been doing in Istanbul at the time, but somehow, that wasn’t bothering Alex.  He knew that Bond had worked at MI6; he’d seen the commander’s profile himself.  Rather, it was the slight twinge of grief and disbelief that was bothering him.  Especially since it was over a man he’d never met before in his life. 

Shaking his head, he gave up on trying to salvage his dinner and tossed it out.  Opening drawers, he began scanning for the takeaway menus, something light and quick.  

Alex felt rather than saw Missy brush against his legs again as he began scanning through the few menus he’d just found.  He wish he could remember the exact circumstances that brought her into his possession; the last he knew, when he woke up in the hospital, he’d thought that Missy was still living with his mother, the cat was hers after all.  Doctor Redding had actually allowed for the animal to be brought in once, while he was still in recovery, and it was then that he’d learned his mother had died under natural circumstances.  He’d relearned about Missy’s intense dislike for strangers when he’d had a plumber working in the flat’s bathroom two months after leaving the hospital, and the cat had spent the entire visit keeping the stranger within eyesight, puffed up and hissing. 

The next visitor, a neighbor even, almost got scratched ankles.  After that, Alex had stopped allowing people into his flat altogether. 

_Brrring!  Brrring!_

“Damn,” Alex muttered and reached for the phone on the wall.  “Hello?” he asked, cradling the phone between his shoulder and ear while shooing Missy out of the kitchenette so he didn’t risk stepping on her tail. 

 _“Mr. Winfield?  This is Ms. Ridley from downstairs at the front desk.  You have a visitor, were you expecting anyone?”_ came the crisp reply.

Alex frowned.  “No, but I can talk… what is the visitor’s name?” he asked as he leaned against the counter. 

There was a moment of silence, broken only by the sound of shuffling papers and soft whispers.  Then Ms. Ridley said, “ _He says his name is Evan Traviss_.”

Alex grinned at the mention of his old university friend and roommate.  He definitely remembered Evan Traviss; his memories had fizzed out sometime right before he finished university, which spared Traviss from being forgotten altogether.  “Send him up, he’s an old friend of mine,” he said, glancing down at Missy, who was watching him warily from where she was sitting expectantly by her empty food bowl.  “How much time will it take for him to come up?” he asked, a plan slowly forming in his head. 

“ _I suspect a couple minutes… why?  Is there a problem?”_ Ms. Ridley asked, traces of worry in her tone.

“No, I just need to take care of a few things,” Alex said, eyeing Missy, who tilted her head when he didn’t immediately take care of the empty food bowl problem.  “Please send him up, thank you.”

“ _Very well, good bye then._ ”

“All right Missy, dinner time,” he said, placing the phone back on the counter.  He had to get Missy out of the way before Traviss knocked or she’d claw even him in her quest to keep his flat visitor-free.

Picking up the empty food bowl, he walked back to the cabinets, Missy close behind, and then pulled the cat food down to fill the bowl.  Then, keeping it in sight where she could see it, he walked backwards to his bedroom, the cat obediently following.  “All right girl, try not to make a mess,” he said, nudging the loo door open and setting the food bowl down across the room from the door.  Missy lovingly bumped her forehead against his leg before trotting to the food bowl.  He quickly yet carefully shut the door behind him. 

_Knock, knock._

Just in time.

He grimaced when he heard the skittering of claws on the tiled floor, and then yowling when Missy discovered the shut door.  Resisting the urge to let her out again, he walked back to the front door and opened it.

Evan Traviss grinned when they made eye contact; it had been three years since the two had spoken, but the ginger-haired, green-eyed man seemed as vibrant as ever.  His old roommate had grown several centimeters since they last saw each other, and was now a little taller than Alex.  “Winfield, you _devil,_ I thought you were done for the last time we spoke,” he said, grinning as he pulled Alex in for a one-armed hug.  “Alana was so stressed out and I thought MI6 was going to nail you-”

“Hey, can we talk about this inside?  There’s something I have to tell you,” Alex said, glancing anxiously down the hall toward Heather’s flat.  He didn’t know if she was home, but this meeting didn’t have to have an audience, and Heather was always the most aware of events going on in not only the hall, but also the complex as a whole.

“Sure thing.”  Evan stepped in, and glanced around the flat as Alex shut the door behind him.  “So what’s the big secret?” he asked, setting down a package in order to pull his thick coat off.  “Did MI6 finally pounce after all and you barely escaped?”

Alex shook his head and said, “No, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”  Pinching the bridge of his nose and ignoring the look of incredulity on Evan’s face, he said, “I was in an accident, seven months ago.  Retrograde amnesia, can’t remember a bloody thing that happened in the last three years.  Last thing I remember is hacking into the university’s network to leave our own report on one of the professors,” he said, finally looking up at his friend. 

There was a moment of silence, where Evan stared at him.  “I’m sorry, I can’t decide whether to laugh or to cry,” he said finally, moving past Alex and collapsing on the couch.  “Greatest achievement of our university career and you can’t bloody well _remember_ it.”

“Sorry?  What is it we did?” Alex said, bewildered now.

“You and I got drunk at the pub in our last week, and Alana Stafford, remember her?  She dared you to hack into the most secure network you could think of, and we all voted on MI6 or MI5.  You did, but next thing we knew, you were on the run because MI6 caught onto the intrusion almost right away.  Before you left though, I said I’d pay you ten quid for every day you remained a free man.  You went to ground three weeks later, and that was the last I ever heard of you.  Until a couple days ago anyway, I was poking around looking for you because I need your help,” Evan explained, shrugging with a shoulder.

“Alana… where is she now?” Alex had a dim memory of a smiling young woman, but he couldn’t recall her features, it had been too long.

“Dead.  She, er, lost her sanity a couple months after you disappeared, tried to target high profile individuals with the help of some criminals she’d run into at some point.  MI6 caught up to her before she could go after the Prime Minister, I just tried to keep my distance throughout the whole affair, but it didn’t really work in the end,” Evan said, looking down at the ground for a moment.  Before Alex could pursue the subject however, Evan brightened and looked up.  “So.  Lost memory.  Do you still remember how to at least work with computers?”

“Well, I’d hope so, given that my job revolves around them,” Alex said, deciding to let the subject drop for now.  “What is it that you need?”

“Well, I do a couple of odd jobs for this friend of mine,” Evan explained, nodding to the package that was still sitting on the table by the door.  “And he needed a hard drive looked at, wanted to know if the data was salvageable.  Someone wiped the main computer clean, and the hard drive got a little banged up, but my friend is hoping that the data can still be recovered.”

“How banged up is ‘banged up’?” Alex asked as he picked up the package and brought it over to the couch.

“Um, you can still tell it’s a hard drive, but you can’t really use it?” Evan guessed, looking unsure himself.

“Lovely.”

The hard drive turned out to be just that: recognizable but unusable.  The edges had melted, the non-melted parts were chipped, and it otherwise looked as though it had been tossed around.  Alex stared at the chunk of damaged hardware before turning to Evan.  “Where the hell did you find it?” he finally asked.

“I didn’t find it, the man I work for found it, and he got it from someone else.  Apparently the computer it was attached to had its memory wiped, like I mentioned earlier, but the owner wanted to know if it was possible to still recover the data from it,” Evan said, watching as Alex noted the data ports.

“When do you need it by?  I can’t exactly work on it this instant, it will take time,” Alex said, thinking of Missy still shut in the loo; he could hear her yowling even from here.  She wasn’t going to forgive him for a while.  “My regular laptop isn’t working right now either, I’ll need to use one of the work computers,” he added, studying the hard drive, mentally reminding himself to get and use the reject laptop he’d brought home from RIE.  “There are also some cables I’ll have to get to make sure everything is secure in case there is a virus or something on here, I’d like to use an isolated network just in case.”  He glanced at Evan and asked, “When do you need this by?”

“Soon.  The friend is leaving London in a couple days, wanted to meet up with his not-girlfriend first before heading south,” Evan explained.  “How long do you think it will take to work on it?”

“That’s the problem, I don’t know.  I’d have to get everything ready first before doing anything, don’t want to crash the network in this neighborhood by accident,” Alex said, already creating a list of things to look for before he went out to purchase them.  “Maybe a couple days?  When exactly is your friend leaving?”

“Monday morning, he has a flight that leaves at eleven,” Evan replied.  He tilted his head, and then asked, “Are you still afraid of flying?”

“Yes,” Alex said curtly.  “So whatever idea it is that I suspect you have, you may discard it immediately.”

“Well, what I was going to propose was that you work with me on the side, freelancing,” Evan said, and Alex paused to look at him.  “Hackers are in high demand, but the governments are catching them too fast.  My friend, he has political amnesty in the States and is excellent at evading authorities.  Helps me out all the time.  And you wouldn’t even have to leave London, just help out when we need it.  You’d get paid and everything, no trails whatsoever that lead back to you.”

Alex mulled over the idea.  It was tempting, to have back the opportunity to hack at will and not worry about potential arrest.  He’d have to play it careful around here and at work; one slip and he would be done for.  He wasn’t keen on getting caught by MI6, especially since he’d apparently evaded them before in the past.  Hacking them by accident would probably have resurrected old grudges.  On the other hand, while the adrenaline rush was addicting, the idea of hacking for whomever asked didn’t sit well with him for some odd reason.  “I’d have to think it over,” he said finally, setting the hard drive down.  “But I do have a few questions, do you mind?” he asked, watching Evan carefully.

“Sure, you can tell me when I come for the hard drive, say, Sunday evening.  The job is voluntary, and Thomas, he’s the man I work with, he’s pretty relaxed about everything.  As for questions, what is it that you want to know?” Evan asked curiously. 

“First off, how did you get into this?  Last I knew, you were studying to become a professor in maths,” Alex said, gesturing to the hard drive as though to emphasize his point.  “If anything, our positions should be reversed right now.”

“It’s a little complicated, but I got involved when I made a halfhearted attempt to reach out to Alana, before she died.  Then when MI6 joined into the fray, I ran into Thomas and he got me out of MI6’s radar when they were doing a sweep of Alana’s associates and old friends.  Their version of an IT branch was very thorough, Mum called me to ask what the hell I’d been getting up to when one of their agents showed up at her door looking for me,” he said, shrugging.  “The pay is good and the work is exciting, I travel a hell of a lot more frequently than I did when we were all still at uni.”  Gesturing to the hard drive, he asked, “What’s your first impression?”

“That the data may not be recoverable.  When you say that I’d work when asked, does that mean I could potentially hack into the British government for some foreign dictator?” Alex asked, frowning now.

“Thomas doesn’t care who the information is for so long as they pay.  And you can’t tell me you’re getting nervous about it _now_ , you hacked MI6 countless times in the past.  What’s different about it now?” Evan asked, brow furrowing slightly. 

“What is different is that all I was doing to MI6 was pointing out their system errors and embedding annoying American pop songs in their servers, it was just a _prank_ ,” Alex countered, forcing himself to breathe slowly to control his steadily rising temper.  “We were young and stupid then, what you’re suggesting now is treason.”

“It’s only treason if you’re caught.  Tom, he’s committed all sorts of treason against the States but the CIA keeps him around anyway because he’s _useful_.  The trick is to become too valuable for them to kill you,” Evan said, standing up.  Alex stood up as well; while he was now shorter than Evan, he’d be damned before he let Evan get the upper hand.  “You’re a hacker, hackers are valuable since as I said before, governments are either arresting them or hiring them.  Given that you’re here and not working for MI6, you were lucky enough to escape.  Or, for all we both know, you _did_ work for MI6, and now that you’re an amnesiac, they saw this as a good chance to cut you loose without fear of retribution since I don’t know, maybe you screwed up somehow and cost them too much.”

“Well, even if they did cut me loose, that doesn’t mean I’m obligated to start selling them out,” Alex snapped, ignoring the small sting in his chest at the thought of his previous employers cutting him off without a word.  He suddenly recalled his Universal Exports profile, the one he’d deleted, and wondered if perhaps it had been supposed to be there after all.  “Besides, we don’t know who I worked for before the fucking accident, all right?  And even if it wasn’t MI6, I’m not going to start selling my country out.”

“What if it wasn’t England then?  Some other country?”

Alex shook his head.  Raising his hands in frustration, he said, “No, because then it would be an ally of ours and-”

_Knock, knock._

Silence abruptly fell at the sound of someone at the door.  Alex glanced at Evan, who looked just as nervous.  Alex hesitated, and then walked over to the door to open it.  “Hello?” he asked nervously.

To his surprise, a sleepy looking Alec Trevelyan was standing there, short hair sticking up different directions with a miffed and tired expression on his face.  He raised an eyebrow when he spotted Evan standing not too far behind Alex, and then said, “It sounds like someone is dying slowly and painfully in your flat, that cat is yowling into the bloody air vents and my friend can’t sleep.”

 _Missy_.  Alex nearly palmed his forehead.  “I’m sorry, I’ll get her out in a few minutes, we were wrapping up anyway,” he said, glancing pointedly at Evan, who nodded.

“Think about I said,” Evan said finally, walking over to collect his coat.  “No more cubicles or eight to five workdays, you can set the schedule.  Hell, Tom probably can even provide resources to help you find what it is you’re looking for.  I’ll come by on Sunday like we discussed,” he added as he pulled his coat on. 

“Yes, please do call beforehand next time,” Alex replied, careful to keep an even tone now that Trevelyan was playing witness to the exchange, a witness Alex would have preferred not having. 

“No problem.”  Evan paused by Trevelyan, and the two men eyed each other for a few seconds, sizing each other up before Evan shrugged and calmly left, walking toward the lift.  Both men watched as Evan pressed the button for the lift, and then stepped in without another word, not even bothering to make eye contact again with either Trevelyan or Alex before the doors closed.

Trevelyan broke the silence first.  “Charming.  Friend of yours?” he asked, glancing back at Alex.

“From university, I’m sorry if you heard the shouting too.”  Shaking his head, Alex headed back in and said over his shoulder, “I’m sorry that Missy woke you up, I hadn’t even realized it had gotten that late.”

“It’s probably not late for you, but my friend flew over from the States earlier today and worked nonstop since then, he’s exhausted and can’t be bothered to go back to his own flat right now,” Trevelyan said, turning back to face Alex.  “I was just watching the telly when your cat started yowling.”

“And I suppose you would know what a slowly dying person sounds like?” Alex asked, raising an eyebrow.

Trevelyan didn’t respond, merely smiled before turning around and walked back toward the stairs on the opposite end of the hall from the lift.  “Your cat’s still yowling, I can hear her all the way out here,” he said over his shoulder before sauntering away.

Alex stared after him, unsure as to whether Trevelyan was trying to psych him out or was actually serious.   Then he shut the door and, pushing Trevelyan to the back of his mind again, he hurried to the loo to let the cat out.

Missy shot out of the room and headed straight for the front door, hissing and spitting for a few minutes before she assessed that the threat was no longer present.  Then, fur slowly smoothing out again, she jumped on the couch and settled on Alex’s end, soft growls still rumbling in her throat as she stared at the hard drive. 

“Sorry about that, I’ll get you some tuna tomorrow to make up for tonight,” Alex said, wearily picking up the hard drive and putting it back in the packaging. 

Missy tilted her head at him before resting her head on her paws, fur still slightly on end as she stretched out and curled into a ball. 

Alex just shook his head before heading to the hall closet to store the hard drive in the same box he kept the latest rejected laptop from RIE, the one he hadn’t had time to examine earlier.  Tomorrow, he’d be going to the National Gallery, and Caroline said she’d join him there, and she didn’t mind staying for as long as he needed. 

In the meantime he needed either tea or some kind of alcohol to erase a good portion of Evan’s words, and given that he had more of the former than the latter, it was going to take a while to forget. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Just a quick note:** the next chapter does have a brief depiction of a panic attack, but if you would like to skip that, please jump immediately to the phrase "Atchoooo!"


	8. Chapter 8

Saturday dawned gray and unusually cold for late December.

Caroline was standing near the Portico Entrance of the National Gallery as Alex paid the cabbie that had brought him.  The two of them had agreed to meet there because Caroline hadn’t wanted to risk getting lost in London.  She’d claimed that since she worked so much she didn’t have time to be a tourist, and so wasn’t as familiar with this part of London as he was, or at least that’s what she’d said the first time the two came here and had met at this entrance.

She didn’t see him approaching right away; her phone was out and she had a slight frown as she typed out a message.  Her other hand was resting protectively on top of the messenger bag that she kept her photography equipment.  He was halfway up the stairs when she let out a huff of impatience and stowed the phone away. 

“You look tired,” he remarked as he joined her at the top of the steps.

She jumped at his sudden words, but still smiled when she looked at him.  “You’re one to talk.  Anyway, one of my neighbors prank called everyone in our building throughout the entire night, and he didn’t get to me until four-thirty,” she replied, shrugging with one shoulder.  Narrowing her eyes, she asked, “What’s your excuse?”

“Traitorous university friend and homicidal neighbor,” Alex replied with a straight face, only breaking the façade with a grin at Caroline’s incredulous expression.  “Friend of mine from uni showed up last night, wanted help in decoding a poor hard drive that got destroyed.  Then he tried to talk me into committing treason, but I told him I wasn’t interested.  Then Trevelyan, a neighbor from upstairs, shows up and wants to know why Missy sounded like, and I quote, ‘a slowly dying person’.  I think he was just exaggerating though.”

“Yeah…it does sound like he was pulling your leg.  I wouldn’t buy it if I were you,” Caroline said, shaking her head.  “But as for the uni friend, what kind of treason are we talking about?”

“Mostly hacking into either English or allied networks and pulling out requested bits of information.  His employer apparently is looking for a hacker that can do all that,” Alex said, careful to keep his voice down.  “I thought about going to the police about it, but I don’t want them to start monitoring _me_ because they think that I’m the one who is going to commit treason…”

“That and this sounds more like a task for MI5, they’re the domestic version of MI6.  Or at least that’s what Emma told me when she was setting me straight on America versus England,” Caroline replied, shrugging with one shoulder.  At Alex’s look of confusion, Caroline said, “Sandler and I were comparing notes about our experiences here in England as compared to the U.S., and Emma heard us and lectured us for half an hour.  That was at lunch the other day, Thursday if I had to guess.”

“Speaking of Sandler, how was he doing when you last saw him?” Alex asked.

“That would be earlier this morning.  I went in to check on him on my way over here.  Doctor says that he should be out in a couple days.  Whoever attacked him, broke his nose and kneed him hard in the groin.  I spoke to the techs at Putnam’s request to check the security footage, but no dice.  Whoever erased the footage knew what he or she was doing, which is why Emma suspects someone from the tech department.”  Rolling her eyes, Caroline added, “If you want my personal opinion, I think Emma did it and she’s just pointing the finger first to deflect suspicion from her.”

“Are you sure you’re not saying that just because you don’t like her very much?” Alex teased as the two turned to walk into the gallery.

“Who _does_?  She’s so… so _domineering_.  And bossy, I’m always wondering where she got the attitude from, especially since she joined Royal International Exports about, what, eight, seven months ago?  I mean, I transferred several months before she did, but I don’t whine as much about my job,” Caroline said as they walked through the Portico Entrance. 

“And that is why you, and not her, are the second most powerful person at Royal International after Putnam.  It may not be official, but we all know it,” Alex countered.

She pretended to preen before pausing in the room.  “How do you want to do this?  Mr. Tierny, the manager, wants to meet up with me about what it is that I want to showcase, we can meet up in say, the Sackler Room upstairs?  That’s 34 on the map, right?” she asked, glancing sidelong at him.  “What is it exactly that we’re doing?”

“It’s more of what _I’m_ doing, Ella thinks there was a painting that might have triggered my flashbacks, all I have to do is find the painting that started it,” Alex said, glancing at the nearby staircase.  “How long do you think you’ll be with Mr. Tierny?”

“Hopefully no longer than fifteen minutes.  Just take your time with the exhibits, I don’t know about you, but I’m not in a rush to go anywhere later today.  Quick chat and then I’ll head on up,” she said, winking before walking away.  Alex hoped she remembered where the lift was before he headed up the stairs to his right. 

Walking past the information stand, he paused long enough to accept a gallery map.  Entering the first room to his right, he knew full well that he’d most likely walk through their agreed meeting place, and would double-back once he was finished.  Unsure of how much time to spend at each painting, he settled for scanning each one, not entirely sure of what to wait for.  He didn’t think his memory was going to come back with a bang, he had no idea how to even identify what Ella had called the ‘trigger’ first.

_The trick is to establish who is in control.  He’ll eat you alive the second he sees you falter._

_I like to think that I can hold my ground against a double-oh agent._

_Double-oh seven isn’t like double-oh two.  Just so we’re clear._

Shaking his head absently, Alex found himself wandering into the next room.  The map had labeled it ‘45’, and while the room was nice and all, he got the distinct feeling that he wasn’t supposed to be here.  Humming softly to himself, he scanned both painting and description card before moving onto the next one, ignoring the soft murmurs of the other visitors.

Moving on and biting back a flash of frustration, he wandered down the hall toward one of the central halls.  There were a few more tourists here, a French family of four and a single man examining a painting of an officer and a horse while listening to the audio tour.  There were a few others, but Alex ignored them in favor of wandering down another hall, scanning through the paintings.  None jumped out to him, and he was beginning to wonder if the whole exercise was pointless since he was now aware of the trigger. 

He hoped he wasn’t going to get so frustrated that he had to leave.

Alex turned to Caroline, only to remember that she wasn’t there.  He was in the Sackler Room, which was their agreed meeting place, seven minutes early.  Pinching the bridge of his nose in an attempt to ward off an oncoming headache, Alex moved to the center of the room and sat down on the nearest bench, in front of _The_ _Fighting Temeraire._   Scanning the information packet he was holding, he found the _Temeraire’s_ history in the pamphlet.  The quiet murmurs of the visitors around him settled into comfortable background noise.

Five minutes.

He felt rather than saw the man sit down on the bench next to him.  For a moment, neither man said anything; Alex’s focus was now split between the pamphlet and the man, while he suspected that the man was looking at more than just the painting in front of the two of them.  Still, he calmly ignored the man, hoping that once he proved to be another boring visitor, the man would leave him be.

“Excuse me?”

Or not.

Alex reflexively looked up to find an older, finely dressed man sitting next to him.  He seemed well at ease, sitting there as though he owned the place.  Startling blue eyes met his, and for a split second Alex felt a sense of déjà vu.  A second later he wrote it off as exhaustion.  “Sorry, yes?” he asked.

“What do you see?” the man asked, nodding toward the _Temeraire._

Alex arched an eyebrow but turned to look anyway.  He bit back the ‘um’ as he stared at the painting for a few minutes, briefly wondering what the hell to say.  Then he mentally told himself to calm down, take a deep breath, and then answer the man’s question.  “I see…” he began slowly, relaxing as the words came back to him, “I see a grand old warship, being ignominiously hauled away to scrap.  The inevitably of time, I suppose.  Always made me feel a bit melancholy.”  Glancing at the man, who was still watching him, he said, “What do you see?”

The man glanced at it for a total of seven seconds.  “A bloody big ship,” he said, turning back to Alex.

Alex felt himself quirk a small smile.  “Double-oh seven,” he said reflexively.

Something seemed to light up in the other man’s eyes, but Alex could still see slight lines of tension in his body.  “Q,” he replied with a slight smile of his own.

Alex opened his mouth to respond, reaching for a case that wasn’t there-

_“Breathe Q.  You’re doing fine, your right hand minion says you’re almost through.”_

_What belongs to you, but is used by others?_

_Not such a clever b-_

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to call you that.  The ‘double-oh seven’ part I mean,” Alex said, abruptly standing up in an attempt to hide the slight tremors; the nameless voices were echoing in his head, and he fought to bring his breathing under control.  The man stood up with him as though to keep him from either bolting or having a complete meltdown in a public area.  “It-It just slipped out is all, I didn’t mean anything by it,” Alex added, silently willing the voices to _shut up_.  Half-remembered emotions, anxiety, anticipation, fear, and a strange sense of peace warred with each other before dissolving into a mess, Alex slowly backing away from the man as he shut his eyes in an attempt to blot everything out.  His breath started coming out in ragged gasps as he caught flashes of faces and sights he swore he’d never seen before but were familiar all at the same time.

Cool and callused hands gently took his wrists and steadied him, but never pulled his hands away from his face.  Instead, the man then wrapped an arm around Alex’s shoulders and gently steered him away from the bench, through the door and into the quieter adjoining room.  “Just breathe, in and out,” he said, gently guiding Alex to sit down on the lone bench in the middle of the room.  “In and out,” he said, and Alex drew in a ragged breath but focused on the man’s voice as best he could.  The soft, comforting and familiar intonations provided a soothing tether to reality that Alex clung onto before he felt himself beginning to calm down.

He could feel a flush creeping up his neck as he realized that he was still in the middle of the National Gallery with a complete stranger all but comforting him.  “Oh God… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get you involved,” he said, pulling away only to realize belatedly that his glasses were missing.  “Ah…”

“Here.  I took them off because I didn’t want you to hurt yourself,” the man said, pressing the folded glasses into his hand.  With practiced ease, Alex allowed him to take the glasses and kept his head still as he heard the other man unfold them and carefully place them on his face.  “Better?”

“Yes, thank you.”  Now that he was close up, he could see the man’s face better.  A military-style haircut kept the short blond hair away from imposing features and clear blue eyes, but despite all of that, there was the cautious hope in those eyes.  It was all so familiar that Alex almost opened his mouth to say the man’s name.  He heard it frequently after all, on the rare night that the nightmares stayed away, and for a moment, neither of them said anything.  Swallowing, Alex tentatively reached out to the man, whose hands hadn’t moved from Alex’s shoulders, when he’d steadied the younger man earlier.  Alex hesitated, and then whispered, “James…?”

"Atch _oooo!"_

Alex jerked away as one of the tourists in the room – the one listening to the audio tour – sneezed into his sleeve, the sound echoing in the room.  Opposite him, the man closed his eyes as he took a few measured breaths, fists flexing for a moment before hanging loose.  Standing up, the man asked, “Are you feeling better now?”

“Yes, thank you.”  Alex stood up as well, and then offered his hand.  “Alex Winfield.”

“Whishaw.  Daniel Whishaw.”  Whishaw had a firm grip, albeit a semi-familiar one.  Alex silently chastised himself for addressing the man with the wrong name, but smiled to cover his irritation up.  “Why don’t we head down to the Espresso Bar, and you can get something calming to drink,” he offered, gesturing toward the main atrium.

“All right, I just need to let my friend know where I’m going, we’d arranged to meet here around…two minutes ago,” Alex explained as he found his mobile in his jacket pocket.  He quickly sent a text to Caroline explaining that he’d be downstairs getting something to drink, and, after stowing the phone away, followed Whishaw out of the room.  “I’m sorry about that, er, the thing from earlier-” he began hesitantly.

“It’s all right,” Whishaw gently replied, glancing at Alex long enough for brief eye contact.  “If you ever need to talk with someone…”

“Thank you, I’ll keep that in mind,” Alex replied diplomatically, privately unsure if he would even see Whishaw again after this.  He was quiet for a few moments as Whishaw led him to the Central Hall toward the lifts.  Then he asked, “If you don’t mind me asking, Mr. Whishaw, where do you work?”

“Please, call me Daniel,” he replied, winking at Alex, who grinned despite himself.  “I work for an international sales company, I just got back from Chicago the other day,” he explained as he pressed the button for the lift.  “Have you been to the States before?” he asked, turning to face Alex. 

Alex shrugged.  “I certainly didn’t in the last seven months, nor did I go before university.  Although I wouldn’t be surprised if I didn’t, I don’t really enjoy flying,” he replied, hoping that the minor sidestep would go unnoticed.  “Only flew once to Bordeaux, and hated it.  There’s something about the loss of control, placing your life in the pilot’s hands, that’s a little unnerving because you never know what to expect,” he explained.  “There was mechanical failure that time, and while the pilots were able to keep the plane from crashing, I thought I was definitely going to die in those ten minutes.”  It was strange, speaking about his fear of flying in a calm manner that he hadn’t been able to accomplish with his therapist, and so close to the end of what he suspected was a minor panic attack. 

Daniel nodded, gesturing that Alex go ahead of him.  “So I suppose you don’t travel much?” he asked, pressing the button for the ground floor as the doors closed behind him. 

“Not really, haven’t had much time since I’ve only recently started my current job, and I don’t quite qualify for vacation time just yet,” Alex said, shrugging.  “I’m not concerned though, I don’t really have anywhere else to go.  I mean,” he added quickly as Daniel arched an eyebrow, “I mean that in the sense that I really don’t have a reason to leave London, no family or relatives.  Mum, she was the only family I had left, but she died a while ago.”  While Alex didn’t find Daniel threatening at all, or have any cause for alarm, he didn’t quite feel like mentioning that he had amnesia.  Not out of shame, more out of caution.

“No partners?” Daniel asked, watching him now.

Alex hesitated, and then went for the simple answer.  “It’s complicated,” he said, leaning back against the lift.

Daniel nodded, but didn’t comment.

The Espresso Bar turned out to be right next to the lifts, and was only partly crowded as Daniel and Alex entered.  Alex noted the computers with slight longing before walking with Daniel to black leather seats closest to the bar.  He silently estimated he could hack into the National Gallery network in the time it took Daniel to get the drinks, but then had to settle for remotely accessing the networks later and time himself. 

“Do you want anything in particular?” Daniel asked as he gestured for Alex to sit down.

“Anything that doesn’t have caffeine in it,” Alex said, digging around in his pockets for money.  Daniel started to leave, but he said, “Wait, I need to give you a few pounds-”

“My treat, don’t worry about it,” Daniel countered before turning around and effectively cutting off Alex’s protests.  Alex eyed Daniel’s jacket, and figured that with a little careful maneuvering, he could slip the money into Daniel’s pocket without him noticing.  Settled on that plan, he leaned back against the wall, and watched the few other people in the room, trying not to doze off as the adrenaline finally died down completely.

“Here, drink this,” Daniel said, pushing the paper cup into Alex’s hands.  “It should warm you up and calm you down,” he said, sitting down next to Alex.  Taking a sip of his coffee, he leaned back and rested his head against the wall.  “You mentioned you had a friend with you,” he said, glancing at Alex, who nodded.  “Who, if I may ask?”

“A coworker, her name is Caroline.  Aspiring photographer, but she’s hoping to have at least a show here.  She went to talk to the manager about it while I explored around upstairs,” Alex replied, neglecting to mention the real purpose of his visit.  “She’s from the States, don’t exactly remember where.  She works closely with my boss, at Royal International, but we’re friends, she helped me get back on my feet after an incident a while ago,” he explained, Daniel nodding as he listened.

“Sounds like a strong woman, I wouldn’t mind meeting her sometime,” Daniel replied, glancing back around the room almost reflexively.

“You might actually get a chance,” Alex said, catching sight of Caroline walking in, mentally grimacing at the slight limp in her walk.  “Actually, wait here a moment,” he said before setting the tea down and walking toward Caroline, who hadn’t noticed him yet.  “Caroline!  Over here,” he called out softly, grinning when she caught sight of him and came over.  “Here,” he said quietly, offering an elbow which she gratefully accepted.  “How did the meeting with Mr. Tierny go?”

“Well.  We might have a deal soon.  I just have to negotiate a tad more.  You all right?” she asked, frowning as she studied his face for a moment.  “You look paler than usual, and that’s saying something,” she finally said.

“Later, I’m not ready to talk about it at the moment,” he whispered back before guiding her back to the bench where Daniel was waiting, holding Alex’s tea.  Brightening, he said, “Daniel, this is Caroline Bright, the friend I mentioned earlier.  Caroline, this is Daniel Whishaw.  I met him upstairs when I waiting for you.  We decided to come down and get something quick to drink,” he lied, praying that Daniel would just go along with it.

Surprisingly, he did.  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Bright,” Daniel said, giving Alex his tea back before shaking hands with Caroline. 

Caroline giggled slightly, startling Alex who had _never_ heard her laugh like that.  “Oh, the pleasure’s all mine, Mr. Whishaw,” she said, eyes sparkling as she retracted her hand.  “Are you an art enthusiast?”

“No, I was actually here with a younger cousin, whom I need to go find before he gets into trouble.  He’s the art enthusiast,” Daniel replied before turning back to Alex.  “Do keep in mind what I said earlier, before we got on the lifts,” he said, carefully maintaining eye contact with Alex.

Alex quirked a smile, ignoring Caroline’s confused expression.  “How will I ever contact you?” he asked, raising an eyebrow as Daniel smirked before walking closer to his other side, as though to pass the two of them.

He pressed what felt like a business card into Alex’s free hand, and said quietly by Alex’s ear, “You allowed me to help you once, I can only hope you’d trust me enough to let me help you again if you ever need it.  Call or text, I’ll get it no matter what.”

Alex hesitated, meeting Daniel’s steady gaze.  “Of course,” he said finally, slipping the card into the nearest pocket. 

Daniel straightened, nodded once to a slack-jawed Caroline before saying, “Excuse me,” and then leaving the Espresso Bar altogether.

Alex then took that opportunity to help Caroline sit down.  He sat down next to her, and for a moment neither of them said anything.  Then Caroline groaned and slumped in her seat as Alex took a sip of his tea.  “Well, there goes my plans for Saturday night, I was going to ask him out.  How is it that I’m still single after living here for ten damn years and then a hot guy shows up _now_ and all but asks you out?”

“Tell you what.  The next time we go out in public together, I’ll disappear as soon as the ‘hot guy’ shows up,” Alex promised before draining the rest of his tea in one gulp.  Wincing at the heat going down his throat, he added, “He was really nice, we talked about a painting before coming down here.”

“Oh?  Which one?”

Alex glanced at her.  “The _Fighting Temeraire._   Strange thing is that for a few seconds, it felt like I’d had that conversation about it before,” he said, frowning as he recalled the short discussion before his reflexive answers.  Shaking his head to loose the memory, he said, “But it’s not important, I called him two wrong names before he introduced himself.”

Caroline nodded as she absently rubbed her knee.  “What did you call him?” she asked, glancing at him.

Alex froze for a moment, and then said, “I’d rather not talk about it right now.”  Standing up, he asked, “Do you want anything?”

“Paracetamol, but I understand if you don’t have any of that right now,” she said, opening her photography bag to start sifting through the pockets.  “Maybe something to nibble on?  I can pay you back.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Alex assured her before walking to the bar.  The business card, as small as it was, felt conspicuous against his side.  It felt as though everyone knew it was there.  The other cause for worry wasn’t that it was Daniel who said that and offered his assistance that was bugging Alex, but rather that Daniel had evidently had a reason for the offer, a reason that Alex didn’t know.

And Alex hated it when a stranger was concerned for him and he didn't know why.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay, real life hit me harder than I thought it would. 
> 
> So, about the scene in front of the Fighting Temeraire. I have never personally been to the National Gallery in London, and went online to their website for more information. I was delighted to find that they had a virtual tour of some of the rooms, including the Sackler Room, but then found that instead of the bench used in Skyfall, there was what looked like chairs in the room. I went with Skyfall’s interpretation, but someone please correct me if that is actually incorrect.


	9. Chapter 9

Bond hadn’t been to this restaurant in years.

Bentley’s Oyster Bar and Grill was nicely packed for a Saturday evening, and Bond was silently cataloguing the subtle differences in the place since his last visit as he followed Tess to where the host was assisting other customers.  He then ducked his head to lean next to Tess’s ear and, careful to keep his voice low in case of eavesdroppers, asked, “Are you sure your friend will come?”

“He’d better, or criminal politics will be the least of his problems once I’m through with him,” Tess said, scrolling through the list of text messages between her and ‘Rat’.  Coat draped across her arm so she could better see the phone, she readjusted her bag strap to keep it from falling off.  “Oh, and before I forget, Eve called me a couple hours ago, when you were still chasing double-oh two across London.  She said that one, M is _furious_ that you made them send out an unnecessary retrieval team to New Zealand after you, and two, she signed you up for another couple of sessions with the shrinks,” she added under her breath.

“That seems to imply I’ll actually go to those sessions with the shrinks,” Bond replied mildly as he recalled the last session, done prior to the Chicago mission.  He’d actually managed to drive the usually unflappable Miller out of the room in frustration.  He also didn’t fear M’s threats to revoke the license to kill either, not after Alex once called M out on his bluff the last time the threat was made.

“Well… it’s not as hard as you think for Eve or even M to arrange something that’s guaranteed to keep Winfield busy for so long that you won’t get to see him before your next mission,” Tess patiently pointed out as she stuffed her phone back into her bag. 

“Well, you’ll have to tell M that I accept his challenge then,” Bond replied as they stepped forward to the host’s desk.

“Of course you do,” Tess snapped under her breath.  Shaking her head, she looked up at the host and said, “We have a seven-thirty reservation for four under the name of Thomas Williams?”

The host raised an eyebrow.  “As in, the loud American that came through ten minutes ago?” he asked dryly.

Tess grimaced.  “Yes, that sounds like him all right,” she replied.

The host nodded, and then gestured for them to follow him.  “This way, please,” he said, suppressing what looked like the beginnings of a sigh.

Bond followed, but was careful to keep pace with Tess, who was also hanging back from joining the host right away.  “What is our cover?” he asked softly while wrapping a hand around her waist for appearances’ sake.

“We’re colleagues.  Rat will feel threatened if we’re anything but, and will be less willing to cooperate without question.  He has an unrequited crush, remember?  I have to humor him for now,” Tess whispered back. “Even when Will was with me, we were always colleagues, nothing more.”

Bond snorted.  “I bet he liked that,” he said.

Tess smirked.  “About as much Alex liked it when you had to get cozy with what’s-her-face from Nassau in order to get to the target,” she replied in a smug tone.

“Domino,” Bond corrected reflexively: there had been a stretch where the names of femme fatales had been downright ridiculous, and Alex used to tease him mercilessly over the comms about it.  But there hadn’t been mistaking the undertone of anxiety and _slight_ fear that this would be the time Bond was going to walk away for good.

“Case and point,” Tess said, shrugging a shoulder as the host led them out to the terrace. 

 The three of them weaved in and out of tables until they arrived to one set for four, but had only one occupant, a blond woman that Bond didn’t recognize.  For all appearances, she was texting on her phone, but Bond could see that she was too nervous at the moment for that and was simply fiddling with the apps to kill time.  “The rest of your party is here, Miss Smith,” the host said as Bond stepped around him in order to pull out a chair for Tess.

The woman jumped at the mention of her name, but brightened when she saw Tess sitting down across from her.  “Emily!  It’s very good to see you again,” she said, putting the phone away before glancing at the host.  “Thank you, sir,” she added, American accent distinctive from what Bond was used to hearing.

“Of course.  Your waiter will be here in a moment,” he said as he gave Bond and Tess a menu each, and then left.

“Daniel, this is Lynn Smith, one of Rat’s few close associates.  Lynn, this is one of my coworkers, Daniel Whishaw,” Tess said, smiling as she nodded to each in turn.  “Now, where is-”

“It’s just me,” Lynn said quietly, catching Tess off guard.  “It’s just me working directly under Mr. Williams now,” she clarified, noting the look of confusion on Tess’s face.  “Hernandez was shot and killed in Chicago a couple days ago, and Lefèvre was arrested as we were fleeing Vienna.  Mr. Williams promoted one of his favorites, Evan Traviss, when we arrived to London.  Given how our luck is going though, I wouldn’t put it past British authorities or Interpol to find Traviss and arrest _him_ too,” she said, pinching the bridge of her nose.  “Especially since Mr. Williams got a call a few minutes ago, he excused himself to answer it.”

“What happened in Chicago?” Bond asked, recalling the dead overseer from the hotel rooftop.  He also remembered Traviss; Alec had mentioned him when he returned to the flat last night after having investigated the reason why Missy was yowling up the pipes into Alec’s flat.  

“I had a man overseeing an operation there, and it was literally shot to hell when MI6 and the CIA showed up,” an American said, appearing from behind Bond and Tess and startling them both.  He ducked down and kissed Tess lightly on the cheek.  “Emmy, you have no idea how much I missed you,” he said, straightening and walking around the table to his seat.  “What happened to the other guy, the one from Santa Fe?” he asked, patting Lynn on the shoulder as he sat down.

“Will couldn’t come tonight, back problems,” Tess replied.  Her tone may have been even, but Bond still saw the flinch.  “Tom, this is Daniel Whishaw.  He works with Will and me.  Daniel, this is Thomas Williams, known as ‘Rat’ in other circles for his ability to be an accomplished snitch without ever getting caught,” she added as the two men shook hands.  It was hard to read Rat, primarily because he had an unusual amount of gray hair for a young-looking face, and Bond could only attribute that to the daily stress.

“Well, it’s called ‘practice’.  Started when I was six years old.  Anyway, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Whishaw.  Emmy said you had questions about something going on in the States?” Rat asked, folding his hands on top of the table.

Right down to business.  Bond suspected that the phone call had put the man on edge; Tess had told him on the way to the restaurant that Rat _loved_ to talk, especially to gain more information to sell later.  Out of the corner of his eye, Bond noted that Tess looked just as confused as he felt.  Leaning forward, Bond said, “I heard of a human trafficking network in the States, and that there were two individuals taken that shouldn’t be there.  They’ve been gone for months now, and I need to find where they ended up.  I wanted to know if you knew anything about that.”

Rat slouched in his seat as Lynn sighed.  “You too, huh?  CIA’s been bugging me for almost two days about that,” Rat said, wearily rubbing his temple.  “Really wasn’t hard to figure it out who it was either, given that the slimeball keeps blackmailing me into giving him my employees, only for him to kill later.  It’s pissing me off, especially since I can’t take the blackmail out of his possession.”

“Well, who is it?” Tess prompted.

“Nice try, Emmy.  I need that information to get one of my employees out of jail,” he said, glancing at Lynn.  “That was Traviss.  MI5 managed to pounce on the idiot this morning on grounds of domestic terrorism.  Three year old charges by the way, they can’t prove them either.  Traviss was with us the whole time Stafford was going crazy, I still think it was someone else who was tag-teaming with her,” Rat said, tossing his phone onto the table.  To Tess, he said, “This puts us, as in Lynn and me, in an awkward position for Sydney though.  Emmy, I will _happily_ give you the identity of the trafficker mastermind if you can get Traviss out of prison.”

 _So this is how he does business with the CIA_ , Bond thought as Tess frowned.

“I don’t know, what happens if I do arrange for his release?” she asked warily.

“A few things.  One, you two get the name of the trafficker, and then you can go find those two missing individuals,” Rat said, holding up one finger.  “Two, Traviss can finish his mission, the one I gave him the other day.  And three,” he said, raising the third finger and lowering his voice as the waiter approached their table, “Lynn and I, along with the rest of my little entourage, won’t get murdered in our sleep when we go meet up with the Riddler in Sydney.”

Bond waited until the waiter was once again out of earshot with their orders before he said, “What provocation would the Riddler have for killing you?”  He tried to keep the interest out of his voice; this had to be the first mention of the criminal’s existence since Paris.

_No, really the second, but the first doesn’t count.  A dying man will say anything._

Rat gave him a thin smile.  “I assume that the two of you heard about the Riddler’s blunder in Paris seven months ago?” he asked.  When the two agents nodded, he said, “The reason it was so _humiliating_ for the Riddler was because that entire bunker that the fight took place in?  It was _designed_ to kill highly trained secret intelligence operatives, namely the feared double-oh seven from MI6.  The idea was that if the Riddler could do what no one else could, he would get not only respect, but funding from the big names out there, namely Joaquin Ramirez.”

“Silva’s successor, right?” Bond said, recalling the mission files as he ignored the flash of guilt in his gut.

“Yeah, but he’s taking more after Blofeld than Silva, computers really isn’t his thing and he knows it.  Anyway, fiasco occurs, computer is smashed, et cetera.  Riddler manages to salvage the hard drive, and he has his techs start to withdraw the data.  _That’s_ when he learns that a plucky MI6 tech had been sent instead of double-oh seven, and the entire computer _was wiped clean_.  _Christ,_ he was so angry after that.  Riddler hands the hard drive off to me next, tells me to find someone to at least _try_ retrieve any leftover data on it.  I hand it off to Traviss, who says he’s located a hacker who hacked MI6 for three years now and _still_ hasn’t gotten caught,” Rat said, grinning broadly.  “Talk about having guts.  Kid’s name is Alexander Winfield, went to uni with Traviss and Stafford.  While I’m not keen on having another pissed off terrorist on my hands, I did tell Traviss to extend an employment offer to Winfield.”

“And now, because Traviss has been arrested, you don’t know where the hard drive or Winfield is.  Can’t say I envy you,” Tess said, leaning back in her chair.  “Traviss is the only one who knows where everything is.”

“Which is why I’m fantastically _screwed_ until this mess fixes itself.  I’m leaving London on Monday morning, and won’t be back until the following Saturday,” Rat said.  “Assuming I come back at all,” he amended, glancing sympathetically at Lynn.

“All right.  We’ll arrange for Traviss’ release.  I know some people in MI5,” Bond said, ignoring Tess’s confused expression.  “But I’ll do it only _after_ you tell me the name of the trafficker.”

“Is that so?” Rat asked, raising an eyebrow.  “How do I know you’re not lying to me or won’t retract your promise after the deal is sealed?”

“I’ll make sure he does it,” Tess said quietly, catching Rat’s attention.  “I promise.”

Rat silently studied her for a moment, and Bond could see the American’s resolve weakening.  “All right, it’s a deal,” Rat said finally, reaching over and shaking hands with Bond. 

“The trafficker?” Bond said, watching the American carefully for any sign of deception.

Rat sighed and said, “I am _so_ getting shot for this.”  He took a deep breath and said, “It’s the Riddler.  He’s been creating and expanding the human trafficking network to use as a smokescreen for the transport of munitions around the world in preparation for the ‘master plan’, whatever the hell that is.  If you paid close enough attention to the missing persons reports, you’ll notice that it’s able-bodied Americans disappearing, all between the ages of eighteen and thirty-five.”  Rat shook his head and said, “The victims are the grunt workers, and the supervisors are _my_ employees, ones that I’ve loaned out to him through blackmail.”

“Must have been one serious piece of blackmail,” Tess remarked.

“I’d confirm it, but it’s kind of embarrassing for me.  The Riddler has no fucking idea how to handle delicate weaponry and explosives without making something go boom.  At least he recognized that shortcoming because if he’d been caught with _my_ merchandise, I would be on the FBI’s Most Wanted for another five to seven years.  I just don’t know why it has to be _my_ employees, since he always ends up having them shot, like poor Hernandez.”  Shaking his head, Rat said, “My employees and I thought that the grunt workers were hired help, not kidnapped individuals.”

“What about the British ambassador’s children?  They’re both under fifteen,” Bond asked.

Rat shrugged.  “I don’t know what happened there, must have been a hiccup in the screening process.  The Riddler didn’t work on that aspect himself until recently, when everyone got shuffled around after someone located the unlucky MI6 tech that had put the Riddler in this situation in the first place,” he said, sipping some water.

Something cold settled in Bond’s gut, and he didn’t even realize that he was reaching for the ever-present Walther until Tess placed her hand on top of his underneath the table.  “They found the MI6 tech?” she asked, grip tightening around Bond’s hand as the two silently fought for control.

“Yeah.  Poor sap has retrograde amnesia, can’t remember the last three years, much less the last eight months.  He works at the IT department at Royal International Exports; the Riddler has two minions watching him.  One he trusts explicitly and the other is the best sharpshooter he could find.  Word on the street is that the tech either has or remembers everything the Riddler lost that day in Paris, and the Riddler won’t stop at anything or any _one_ to get it back.  And forget MI6, he’s got other competition too,” Rat said, rolling his eyes.

“And the Riddler needs that data to continue?” Bond asked.

“Well, duh.  He lost contacts, schedules, blueprints, inventory lists, _everything_ that he needs in order to successfully pull off what it is he’s trying to pull off.  Having double-oh seven out of the way would be a plus, but at this point, I don’t think the Riddler cares too much about that anymore,” Rat said, nearly bouncing in his seat in odd excitement. “He’d been keeping an eye on intelligence agencies around the world for several years now, looking for potential opposition.  Bourne hasn’t been heard from since 2007, Cross went AWOL in 2012, and Bond’s last big ‘splash’ was in 2012.  Bond at least has been seen since then, he’s just being scarily quieter about carrying out his orders.”  Rat shuddered, and then said “You know I ran into him once?”

“Oh?  When?” Bond asked, unable to recall ever having met Rat before.

“Montenegro, 2006.  I was doing business with LeChiffre when he wasn’t playing cards.  I booked it as soon as I saw that he was losing and Bond was winning, I know when it’s going to get ugly,” Rat said, paling slightly at the memory.

“Huh,” Tess said, and Bond knew why he’d forgotten Rat there, having blocked the entire mission from his memory.

“One last question before I call my friends at MI5 to release Evan Traviss.  How reliable is the source of your information?” Bond asked, leaning forward slightly.

“Sort of?  We were both pretty drunk, ran into each other at a pub last night.  The person, who works at RIE, was just grateful to hear another American.  Knew a lot about the other RIE employees, saw the MI6 tech every day but couldn’t do a damn thing about it, and is a loner in the company.  Hates working there, would rather be back home in the States,” Rat said, frowning as he thought back for a moment.  “Other than that, I can’t remember much else.  We drank way too much, and I woke up this morning in some strange girl’s apartment,” he said, rubbing his temples.  “I’m sorry, I’m getting sick just thinking about it… excuse me!” he said, stumbling to his feet and bolting from the terrace altogether.

Lynn sighed. “What a coincidence.  I got drunk-dialed last night, had to drive to the other side of London to pick him up from some strange girl’s apartment, and dealt with his whining all day.  Lucky me.  Please excuse me,” she said before leaving the table.

“Classy,” Tess remarked, leaning back in her seat as Bond yanked his hand back, having lost the small struggle.  “Well, at least we know that the Riddler hasn’t been idle either in the last seven months.  Although, if someone is monitoring Winfield at Royal International, I’ll have to be more careful as well,” she said.

“We never thought the Riddler would be idle, it was just a matter of finding him.  Now we have to find out what he’s going to do,” Bond said, considering it a plus that M’s official assignment of locating the children coincided with the hunt for the Riddler.  “Who are the Americans at RIE?” he asked, looking at Tess.

She sighed.  “There’s only four.  Caroline Bright, a lovely lady from the East Coast, is at the very top of the corporate hierarchy, as Mr. Putnam’s secretary, she’s the second-in-command in all but name.  Erica Richter in Accounting, she’s Lloyd’s secretary, hasn’t even _met_ Winfield yet because she and Lloyd have been too busy exploring the concept of an office romance,” she said, rolling her eyes.  As Bond pulled out a mobile, she said, “Last but not least are the two interns.  Michael Sandler and Edd Holton.  I see Winfield every day, so I see mostly everyone he interacts with, which, if we’re talking about Americans, is three of the four I just mentioned.”

“You and Alec keep a closer eye on him, but be careful now that we know the Riddler’s been watching him too,” Bond said as he finished the text message and sent it off.  “I just told Alec to keep Traviss at a distance for now.”

“Wait, you’re actually following through on what you said to Rat?” Tess said, surprised.

“I’m a man of my word.  MI6 might want to talk to Traviss anyway,” he said, sending another message to Q with a strongly worded ‘suggestion’.  “M will want to know what Rat had to say too.”

“Just don’t tell him that Rat was completely pissed when he got that information,” Tess replied, rubbing her temples. “Checking the validity of the source might waste more time.  Oh, and Alec is going to be annoyed that you wasted all of his hard work getting Traviss arrested this morning.”

“I’d rather he was annoyed with me than have Alex dead.  In the meantime, I’ll go to Sydney and find out what happened to those children,” Bond said, not looking up.  Then, sensing her silent disapproval, he said, “You’ve been talking to Eve, haven’t you?”

“Well, we had time to kill and she had some excellent points,” Tess replied.  “Bond, she’s right and you know it.  This is a second chance most people would _kill_ to have.”

“Including you?” he prompted, looking up at her.

She nodded.  “In a heartbeat, even if it was for only five minutes,” she said quietly.

Bond quietly regarded her.  “Do you remember experiencing that heart-wrenching pain that was so crippling that Medical had to sedate you for a week?” he asked.

Tess scowled, but nodded.  “It doesn’t hurt that much nowadays,” she admitted.  “It did at first, but it kind of eased with time.”

“That’s because you’re healing.  There’s no other outcome for you except to soldier on, and you know it.  So instead of dwelling on it, you push on.  Once you have that final closure, you’ll be able to move on with life,” Bond said, never breaking eye contact with her.  “For a second, back in the gallery, Alex remembered.  I saw it in his eyes, and I saw how damn close I was to getting through to him.  Then Martin sneezed and suddenly, Alex was gone to me again.”

“Is that why you chased double-oh two across London today?  M had thought you had completely snapped,” Tess said, raising an eyebrow.

“Double-oh two wasn’t running a mission today, I checked with one of the Q-Branch techs before charging after him,” Bond said.  “As I was saying, I don’t have that closure.  I recovered from Vesper after finding the man who used her, and then I could leave it all behind.  But Alex, I know there’s a chance, however slim, that he can come back.  He’s not gone to me yet.  The only reason I haven’t kidnapped him and locked him away yet is because the second I do that, the Riddler will disappear again and we’ll have to start over.  He’s waiting for us to make the first move.  He doesn’t know where we are just as we don’t know where his minions are.  One of us is going to get smoked out first, and then it’s game over.”

Tess was quiet for a moment.  “Sounds awfully like you’re using Winfield as bait,” she said finally.

“No, we’re not.  We’re making sure he doesn’t suddenly remember that he used to work for MI6, remember the secrets, and then go rogue on us.  M told us that, remember?” Bond said patiently, putting his phone away. 

For a moment, neither double-oh said anything.  Then Tess said, “The Riddler really has our hands tied, doesn’t he?”

“You don’t know all of it.  Alex can’t even hear ‘Q’ as a form of address without going into a panic attack. That’s what happened at the gallery,” Bond said, spotting the waiter approaching with their food.  A queasy-looking Rat and an exasperated Lynn were walking behind the waiter.

“Fuck, really?”

“Yes.  Oh, and Tess?  This conversation never happened,” Bond warned.

Tess gave him an amused smile.  “Of course not, Mr. Bond.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are awesome. Thank you for being patient with me.
> 
> Thanks goes to Fyrepen33 for assisting me out of the small snarl with the beginning.
> 
> I do apologize for any location errors in this chapter.


	10. Chapter 10

“Mr. Winfield?”

Alex looked up from where he was crouching in the waiting room; in front of a toddler he’d been entertaining for the last fifteen minutes.  “Yes?” he asked, noting the receptionist that was waiting near the edge of the room.

“Doctor Redding will see you now,” the nurse said, quirking a sad smile as she nodded toward Alex’s companion, who was clutching onto Alex’s parka tightly with one hand on the zipper pull and the other on the fabric.  “He can’t come along, I’m afraid,” she said finally.

“It’s all right, I just need a moment.”  Alex turned back to his little friend and said, “All right, Willy, I have to go now.  Behave for your grandmother, okay?”

The toddler in question, Willy, had been sitting on his grandmother’s lap when Alex found him.  He’d offered to keep the child entertained while she went up to the front desk to check him in, and Willy hadn’t stopped playing since, moving to sit on Alex’s lap next.  Up until that point, he had been transfixed on the two items he had in his fists, blinked and looked up at Alex with some sort of confusion on his face.  It wasn’t until Alex started to stand up and pass the child back to the grandmother that Willy realized the imminent danger and squealed loudly, yanking on the zipper pull and unzipping the parka halfway.

“ _Willy_ , behave yourself,” his grandmother said, frowning as she held her arms out so Alex could hand Willy over, a tricky endeavor when trying to keep the toddler from yanking off the entire parka.  “I’m so sorry, Mr. Winfield, I don’t know what has gotten into him, he always behaves with his mum.”

“That’s all right… Hang on, I have an idea,” he said, keeping close as Willy settled on his grandmother’s lap.  He furrowed his brow in concentration as he undid the clasp to the zipper pull, and then grinned triumphantly when it came free from the parka.  “There, I can pick it up on the way out, no rush,” he said, standing up as Willy stared at the freed zipper pull he was still holding.

“Are you sure?” she asked, reaching over to try and examine it, but let go when Willy started to get fussy.  “I don’t want you to lose it if it was a gift,” she said worriedly when Willy made a grumbling sound.  She tried to take the edge of the zipper pull and take it away from him.

“It’s all right, I found it in a box when I was moving into my current flat,” Alex said, shrugging with one shoulder as he readjusted his parka.  “It’s of the Eiffel Tower, although I don’t know when I would have gotten it.  I’ve never been to Paris before and I don’t know anyone who’s been there.  But there’s no problem, as I said earlier, I can pick it up on my way out.”

“All right, thank you for entertaining him,” the woman said gratefully as Willy squirmed on her lap.

“You’re welcome.  Please excuse me, I don’t want to keep Doctor Redding waiting too long,” he said, nodding in acknowledgement before leaving to join the nurse, who was smiling by the time he joined her.

“That was a very kind thing you did,” the nurse remarked as the two walked down a hallway behind the front desk.  “Willy has been here frequently ever since his father died, one ailment after another.  Poor mother’s been stretched thin between three children and a very demanding job, but I think she’s planning to resign soon.”

“It’s awful that the family lost the father,” Alex agreed, careful to keep close to the nurse; the last time he was here, he’d gotten lost inside and wound up near the morgue before he found someone to help him.

“Indeed, I believe he was overseas when it happened.  Caused quite a fuss back here at home, but the wife handled everything beautifully.  Now, I don’t know if Doctor Redding has informed you of this, but she does have your personal belongings here from when you were injured,” the nurse said, gesturing to a half-open office door. 

“Thank you,” Alex said before heading inside.

Doctor Elizabeth Redding had turned her office into a homelike environment with the aim of comforting her visitors and patients.  There were plants on the windowsill, a small fish tank in the corner, and numerous photographs of different landscapes on the walls.  Alex didn’t mind coming in there, even for a checkup, given that the alternative was the examination room where he’d once had a small, surprise flashback that involved floating surgical tools and ended when he’d driven a fist into the ghostly surgeon’s nose.

Thankfully, he hadn’t hit Redding in reality.  In the interest of not triggering another attack like that, she’d moved them to her office, where the most hospital-like smell came from the hand sanitizer on her desk.

“Alex!  It’s good to see you again.  You look well,” Redding said as she closed the fish tank lid.  “I do appreciate you taking the time out of your schedule to come here.  I understand that you must be busy at Royal International.”

“Relatively, yes.”  Alex waited until she’d sat down at her desk before he said, “My shoulder hasn’t been giving me too many problems, it just aches a lot and I still don’t have full movement yet.”  This wasn’t his first checkup, and other than the aching, he thought he was healing just fine.  If anything, he thought Redding was either being overcautious or simply waiting until something happened before moving onto the next step.  When he looked up at her again, he flinched when he saw that her eyebrow was raised.  “What?” he asked.

“Have you been doing the physical therapy exercises I asked you to do?” she asked, pointedly looking at the injured shoulder.

 _Shit_.  “Um, sort of, there’s been a temporary shuffle of management at work, so it’s been a little more demanding than usual.  But as I said earlier, it’s nothing I can’t handle,” Alex said, ducking his head to avoid eye contact.

Redding sighed.  “Alex, you need to work with me if you want to finish recovering,” she chided before standing up.  “Let me look at it, for my peace of mind if anything,” she added as she walked over to where he was sitting.

He took a breath to calm himself, and then remained still as she knelt and carefully pulled his shirt collar down to examine the scarred skin.

Alex had only ever seen the injury for himself once, while still bed-ridden.  The skin had been red and angry, even leaking a little, and Alex couldn’t shake the mental image for months.  The nausea, while there, hadn’t overwhelmed him, but it was an experience he wasn’t willing to repeat any time soon.  There had also been the quiet fear that the gunman would return to finish the job, but that was one that eased when months went by and nothing happened.  The fear still lingered, but so long as Alex didn’t think about it, he was fine.  “I have a question,” he said finally as Redding’s cool fingertips probed the wound.  “About the actual shooting.”

“Oh?” Redding’s voice sounded controlled, but calm.  Alex didn’t know how he knew that, but it was instinct. 

“Yes… I don’t think anyone ever told me how it happened.  Do you know?” he asked quietly, looking up at Redding.

She shook her head without looking at him.  “You just arrived here, and that’s when we met,” she said, replacing his shirt collar.  “Well, your physical recovery is coming along well.  I read Ms. Thompson’s last report from last week, and I know it doesn’t seem like it, but she says that your sessions are coming along well.  Just remember not to force anything.”  She glanced at Alex and asked, “Out of curiosity, did you ever manage to find out the trigger at the National Gallery?”

Alex was quiet for a moment, not quite trusting himself to reply without going back into the panic attack.  “It’s too complicated to explain right now,” he said, looking up to meet her steady gaze.

She nodded.  “All in good time then, Mr. Winfield,” she said, before kneeling and pulling a lumpy package out from underneath her desk.  “Here are your personal effects.  They randomly appeared on the receptionist’s desk last week with your name on them as well, so I took them for now.  I haven’t touched a thing,” she said, nudging the small table between them before moving her own desk chair to the other side of the table from Alex.  Setting the plastic package down, she said, “If you don’t mind, I’d prefer that you went through your things here.  I understand the desire for privacy, but just in case something happens, please open it here,” she said, pushing the package across the table toward him.

Alex heard the unspoken explanation— _in case you need medical attention after a mental breakdown_ —and calmly ripped the packaging apart.

A worn wallet and empty keychain spilled out first, the keychain nearly falling off the table before Alex caught it with ease.  Opening the wallet, he found what he assumed was his old license and ID card; both were badly damaged, and the addresses and part of the photograph on both were missing, as though burned.  He furrowed his brow when he found almost seventy pounds in the wallet, but mentally wrote it off before pulling out what looked like a damaged laptop case.  He swallowed nervously when he felt something dried and slightly sticky on the side, but tried to not think about it too much.  Raising it so Redding could see, he asked, “Dare I ask where the computer went?”

“No one knows, I was told it disappeared,” Redding replied, shrugging.

Alex raised an eyebrow, but didn’t call Redding out on her words.  Either she knew where his personal effects came from or she didn’t, and subsequently know where the missing item was, but he couldn’t risk trusting it to be one way and not the other. 

And if she was lying… who else was?

And more importantly, _why?_

“What’s this?” he asked, instead attempting to divert Redding from the topic of his (apparently missing) computer.  He pulled out what looked like a shredded piece of fabric that had no real shape to it, and frowned as he turned it over, trying to figure out what it was.

“That… well, from this angle, it looks like something you’d wear… a jacket maybe?” Redding guessed, eyes flickering between the parka and Alex.

“Or a parka,” he agreed, turning it over now that he had a better idea of what it was.  Laying it out flat on the table, he easily located the hood, and where the zipper was once on the front; there were two straight lines as though someone had cut it off with a blade.  He swallowed when he spotted the clean-edged hole in the fabric where his shoulder would be if he were wearing it.  “ _Fuck_ … are you sure the shooter isn’t out to get me again?” he asked faintly, a familiar, cold fear surging in his gut.

Redding sighed.  “I’m sorry Alex, I only know as much as you do in regards to the circumstances that brought you here,” she said as Alex examined the little shred marks that dotted the front.  “I can ask for you, if you’d like.”

“No thanks, I’ll be fine,” he said, keeping down the niggling sense of suspicion as he set the parka down.  He frowned as he turned it over, and then asked, “Did they ever find my mobile?”

Redding blinked, slightly startled.  “I’m sorry?” she asked, leaning back in her chair.

“My mobile.  Always carried it during university, always carry it now.  Why would I break an old habit for three years?” Alex asked, moving the parka off to the side to look through the packaging before looking up at Redding.  “Well?”

Redding shifted in her seat a little before straightening.  “I can look into that for you.  Alex, you didn’t come into the hospital with any of this, so I don’t know what it is that you are missing,” she said, folding her hands as she made eye contact with him.

She sighed, standing up to walk back to her desk.  “Well, physically, you’re on the road to complete recovery.  There will definitely be scarring, but no ill side effects.  The rest of it is really up to you and Ms. Thompson now, given that it’s the psychological matters left,” she said, smiling at him before turning back to her screen.

Alex nodded, refolding the parka before gathering the wallet and keychain.  “Thank you, Doctor Redding, for everything,” he said, pasting a smile on his face to cover up his uneasiness.

“Of course.  And please don’t hesitate to call me if you need anything,” she said, smiling as she stood up and shook his hand. 

He nodded with a strained smile and then left the office.

Alex knew that in the end, the missing laptop didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things.  It was such a little thing, but either Redding knew what happened to it or she didn’t.  And if that was a lie, how many else got by without him noticing?  And if she wasn’t the only one who was lying to him, who else was?  Granted, as a doctor, Redding might have lied to him more than once, but she shouldn’t have had reason to lie about missing personal effects… right?

He needed to talk to someone who hadn’t been involved yet and could help him approach this with a clearer head.

_You allowed me to help you once, I can only hope you’d trust me enough to let me help you again if you ever need it.  Call or text, I’ll get it no matter what._

Daniel’s words cycled in his head even as he hailed a cab and got into the vehicle, hoping to make it into work at the start of the lunch break so Putnam wouldn’t notice his disappearance too much.  While he did manage to get time off long enough for the appointment, he knew that keeping his head down was going to be more critical than ever… especially if someone was out to kill him.  All he could see in his mind’s eye was the hole in the parka shoulder, the one that matched the scar on his body.

Alex didn’t know a damn thing of what was going on.  That was bothering him the most now, especially since he now knew that something was up.  Caroline, he knew he’d keep in the loop.  Her and Daniel, assuming Daniel was sincere in his offer.  Caroline could help keep Daniel in line, Alex could have two people he could completely rely on, and he wouldn’t feel like he was completely losing his mind.

_Damn._

It was all still on his mind as he walked into the front lobby of Royal International, almost not paying attention to where he was going.  Caroline looked up with faint worry on her face, standing up as he passed her desk.  “Did something go wrong?” she asked, wringing her hands.

He paused and glanced at her.  Then, after checking to make sure that there was no one in the area, he approached her desk and leaned forward so that they were face-to-face.  “I got my things back today.  My personal effects from when I was attacked.”

Caroline raised an eyebrow.  “ ‘ _Attacked_ ’?” she repeated.  “What makes you say you were _attacked_?” she asked.

He hesitated, and then said, “My computer and mobile, the two most valuable possessions I have now and most likely then, are gone.  I have the computer case, but no laptop.  Doctor Redding _claimed_ to not know anything about the situation that brought me to her in the first place, but then she said that she was told the computer had disappeared.”  Leaning forward on her desk so that they were almost touching noses, he whispered, “Something is going on here.  I don’t know what it is or how much I have to do with it, but there’s something going on and I hate not knowing what it is.”

Caroline blinked.  “Why do I suspect that that attitude has gotten you into trouble once already?” she asked wryly as Alex impatiently waved the comment away.  “What makes you think something is going on?”

“Because clearly my doctor, someone I thought I could trust, saw fit to lie about it.  Caroline, I’m going to need your help in figuring this out.  As you said, I could get into trouble doing this, and I don’t want to disappear into the system,” he said.  “Please.”

She hesitated, and then sighed in defeat.  “All right Alex, I’ll help you.  You’re going to need a British helper too, because I’m useless in the legal systems here as an American citizen,” she said, rubbing her forehead in exhaustion before dropping her hands to her side.  “Especially if you’re going to go back to hacking illegal networks.”

“I promised I wouldn’t do that, remember?” he said, crossing his arms.  “But _thank you_.”

She accepted his hug from across the desk.  “Just be careful, please.  This is going to be so illegal we could get killed for treason,” she whispered in his ear.

“Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing.  It’ll be just you, me, and the third person I have in mind for this,” he whispered back.  “Just the three of us, and no one else.”

“I’m trusting your judgment in this, and I’ve always got your back.  Don’t forget that,” she said quietly before someone cleared her throat nearby.

Alex jerked away from Caroline to find Emma standing there with the small gaggle of interns.  Michael, he noticed, was still missing.  “Apologies for the interruption, Mr. Winfield, but Mr. Putnam wants to talk to you about his hacker request,” Emma said, glaring briefly at Caroline, who stuck her tongue out as soon as Emma looked away.  Alex coughed to cover up a laugh as Emma added, “He’s with two representatives of Universal Exports, the company that requested the hacker in the first place.”

Alex felt his blood run cold at the mention of Universal Exports, and a glance at Caroline confirmed that she was just as surprised as he was.  What he really wanted to know though was whether it was Universal Exports or MI6 approaching them with the computer problem.  “I thought we had time?” he asked, frowning as he turned back to Emma.

Emma shrugged.  “Something happened on their end to make them adjust their schedule to this week, or at least that’s what I heard,” she said, glancing at Caroline.  “Right?” she asked.

“Oh, _yes._   Talk about a nighttime shouting match over the phone I never wanted to go to in the first place,” Caroline replied, rolling her eyes before gesturing to Alex’s package.  “I can hold onto that if you’d like, and give it to you on the way out,” she offered.

“Sure, there’s nothing critical in there anyway, given that the computer and mobile are still missing,” he said, handing it to Caroline, who promptly stuffed it underneath her desk.  “Who from Universal Exports is here?” he asked Emma.

“An Eve Moneypenny and Lee Reardon.  The right hand and the bodyguard,” Emma said, placing a hand on her hip.  “As for the brats here, I told them they could leave early since they’re just getting underfoot,” she added, gesturing to the five interns.

“Hah, no.  I’ll put them to work once I get out of the meeting with Putnam,” Alex said, scrunching his nose at the thought of meeting with the boss.  “Actually, you and Holton can come with me, the other four can get back to their individual projects,” he said, nodding toward Holton, who had been squished between Sarah and Lewis.  Glancing at Caroline, he said, “We’ll continue talking about that later.”

She nodded, and then pretended to lock her lips and toss the key before sitting back down at her desk.

Alex took a deep breath to reclaim his focus, and then gestured for Emma to lead the way, Holton trailing along behind him.

He kept his mobile shielded though, when he texted the third member of his little trio with a request to meet somewhere after hours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'll be away until the 7/27, but I'll have the next chapter ready soon. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed reading this one!
> 
> Thanks to Life On Vega for her assistance with this chapter.


	11. Chapter 11

His footsteps echoed around him as he walked down the long hall that led to M’s office.  For the first time in months, James felt collected and prepared for the upcoming week, especially since he finally had the opportunity to cinch the last, loose strand.

He glanced at his watch as he approached Eve’s (empty) office, noting that he only had forty-five minutes until his next appointment.  Knowing M would understand if he had to cut this meeting short, he set the phone alarm to go off fifteen minutes before the deadline.  M’s office door was closed, and since Eve was (luckily) not there to waste his time chewing him out, James leaned against her doorframe to wait.

M’s door finally opened and Q—Ryan, as James remembered his name being—stepped out, clutching a packet of files while clearly trying to escape as fast as politely possible.  He jumped a meter in the air when he spotted James just standing there, and stammered out a quick, “Sorry, sir, excuse me sir,” as he shrunk in on himself as though to sneak by faster.  He ducked past the agent and scuttled for the exit, practically slamming the door on his way out.

“Double-oh seven, welcome back,” M said before James could question Q’s odd behavior.  He gestured for James to sit as he moved to sit down back in his usual chair.  “I’d given some thought on how I should feel about greeting you, and settled for irritation,” he said as James sat down in the indicated chair.

“Didn’t realize there was a question about it,” James replied easily, maintaining what he hoped was a semi-serious expression.

M didn’t react.  “Well, I was annoyed when I heard you went on an unscheduled jaunt to New Zealand, then I was irritated when the retrieval team found a wanted fugitive instead of you, and then I was pleased when the Americans called to say ‘thank you’ for rooting out one of their mistakes,” he said, reaching into his drawer to pull out a few thick files.  “Then the irritation came back when Q reported that you chased double-oh two out of London altogether,” he added dryly as he closed the desk drawer.  “All because he _sneezed_.”

“At least you now know not to send him on stealth missions,” James said with a perfectly straight face.  “I can also say with the utmost that you chose Will’s replacement well,” he added, unconsciously rubbing his forearm where he had a nasty bruise from when he’d reached up to protect his face from one of Martin’s sneak attacks.

M scowled.  “I told double-oh two that the Special Ops division was too professional to consider killing each other.  Barring Trevelyan and you, of course,” he said, leaning back in the chair.

James made a face.  “That was one time.”

“I doubt it, especially since you’re both forbidden from ever entering Russia for the next five years,” M said, scowling.  Shaking his head, he said, “Enough of that though.   I asked you to return to London for a small reassignment.”

James frowned.  “‘Reassignment’,” he repeated, frowning.  “Reassignment to what?”

“Double-oh two will continue searching for the ambassador’s children, God knows he has the energy to burn,” M said, opening one of the folders.  “You, in the meantime, will be going after the Riddler himself,” he said, piquing James’ interest.  Pulling out several enlarged photographs, M pushed the first two across the desk and said, “It took our undercover agents a few days to confirm his identity, but we’re fairly certain that this man is him.”

James studied the photos in question.  The pictures both had the same middle-aged man who was walking across the tarmac as though he was the President of the United States.  The Riddler had a solid build and a modified beige suit to accommodate his broad shoulders, and he was laughing at something or someone off-camera.  Brown hair partially covered brown eyes, and the sun was reflecting off the Rolex’s surface.  He also had a hand raised as though to catch a friend’s attention, and overall the man looked harmless and friendly.  James knew better though; it was because of this man that 001 had lost a close friend and Alex had been all but exiled.  “Is this the first time anyone has seen him?” he asked, looking up at M.

The director nodded.  “Our undercover contacts report that he is a reclusive man, and conducts business through two lieutenants.  Only his staff sees him on a regular basis.  This event in Sydney will be the Riddler’s first public appearance ever; we’ve run facial scans through every camera around the world, and couldn’t come up with a match from past records,” he said, nodding to the photos.

“I find that hard to believe for some reason,” James murmured as he placed the photographs side-by-side to get a better sense of the man’s surroundings.  “Where’s the airport in these photos?” he asked.

“Sydney.  There’s an illegal exposition going on throughout this week, and I almost reassigned double-oh eight to go shut it down when I heard that the Riddler and two of his associates were going to attend.  This may be our only chance to capture him and bring him back to London for interrogation.  Then I want Winfield, and I don’t care who does this, brought to safety in case of retaliation,” M said, watching James carefully.  “Lawson has informed me that Winfield is compromised, but there really isn’t anything she nor Trevelyan can do about it at the moment since they still don’t know who it is.”

“Tess says that Alex remembers things without realizing it.  Q can confirm it through the security cameras.  That means there’s still a chance he could come back,” James said without looking up from the two photos.

He heard M sigh.  “Bond, would you really want to bring him back into a high-stress environment after recovering from a traumatic event?  Especially since we still don’t know what his triggers are?” he asked quietly.  “His therapist’s reports are far from encouraging, she says there’s been little to no progress.  He keeps suffering from nightmares and insomnia.”

 _Sound oddly familiar?_   James heard the unspoken question but chose to ignore it in favor of holding a hand out expectantly for the report in question.  M wordlessly handed it over, and James scanned the printed text with a sinking heart; had their encounter in the gallery, that short conversation before the panic attack, been nothing but a fluke?  Words like ‘unstable’ and ‘paranoia’ stood out to him, and he felt himself tense at the phrase ‘ _may be permanently unfit for duty’_.  Alex had loved his work, and had been so damn good at it, even if James had hindered him from time to time.  James knew he was holding the final nail to the coffin that held Alex’s career and their relationship; if Alex never came back, James would never seek him out again if only to protect him.  The gallery encounter had been a moment of weakness, a sheer _need_ to just see Alex again up close.

For the first time in years, James felt lost.

Taking a deep breath to tamper down the slow burn of grief—he still had four months left before M’s final decision came through—James asked coldly, “When you say ‘capture’ the Riddler…”

“I want to know what he is planning and the identities of his command staff,” M said in a firm voice.  “Whether he is interrogated here or there is up to you, but I want him alive and able to answer any further questions while locked up here in the interim.”

“Understood, sir,” James said grimly, accepting the third photograph.  He inhaled sharply when he saw the woman; she looked disturbing close to the long dead Vesper Lynd.  She was wearing a stunning red gown, and had carefully pinned hair and a small secretive smile.  In the photo, she was sipping champagne while one arm was delicately wrapped around the Riddler’s own.  The two looked to be at a formal event, a charity if the sign in the back was any indicator.  “And she is…?” James prompted after a moment, finding the similarity between the woman and Vesper more unnerving than shocking.

“Ilaria Amatore, the daughter of a Venetian merchant.  All we know is of her early childhood before she left for university.  This charity, which took place the night the two of them landed, was for UNICEF,” M said grimly.  “We suspect that the Riddler already knows we’re looking for him, and has been working to integrate himself into ‘respectable society’ so that his death, if it happens, will be closely investigated.  He’s registered under the name of ‘Hal Dmitri Reed’, but we aren’t sure if it’s a pseudonym or not.”  Shaking his head, he passed over the fourth photograph and said, “It’s the other one that landed with him that I’m worried about.”

James cringed at the image, recalling his last encounter with the photo’s subject.  “Rolan Kaminski, Russian mercenary for hire.  Left Alec dangling in a well and me trapped in the rafters of the nearest warehouse,” he said, scowling at the Russian, who was wearing his favorite bulletproof trench coat. 

“Last we heard though, he was doing contract work for the crime lord Joaquin Ramirez, who is conspicuously absent from the exposition this week,” M said, frowning as he studied the image.  “Intel _suggests_ that the children, if they are in Sydney, are most likely with him.  Something about having a special touch with handling children despite his profession.  Q, of course, will be providing new equipment to better deal with him if he becomes a problem.”

James raised an eyebrow.  He could easily recall the mercenary from the Moscow mission that Alec liked to pretend never happened, and ‘special touch with children’ wouldn’t have been his first choice of words describing the mercenary.  “I suppose that means Martin will becoming along as well?”

“Yes.  He could use the experience anyway, working with another double-oh agent,” M said, steepling his fingers.  He hesitated, and then said, “There is one final piece of business, and that is Alexander Winfield.”

James glanced up at him warily.

M took that as permission to continue.  “Has Lawson spoken to you about the impending change in circumstances?” he asked.

“Yes.  We talked about it yesterday.  She wants to resign at the end of December,” James said, leaning back in his chair.  The meeting with her hadn’t come as a surprise, he’d been somewhat expecting it by now.

“Due to circumstances being what they are, I am willing to sign her resignation.  She’s agreed to stay at RIE, but she will go back to the eight to five workday and not monitor Winfield as closely as she has been doing.  We’ve discussed potential replacements until May, when the twelve months of observation are up,” M said, watching James carefully now.  “Lee has expressed interest in taking over her position, and I told him I would talk to you first.”

James was quiet for a moment.  Lee had been completely withdrawn since his best friend, Will, had died that day in Paris.  Small missions, all within the country, had done nothing to quell his temper or make it easier for the psychologists to get through to him.  “Why does he want to do that?” James finally asked.

M sighed.  “One of the psychologists, Doctor Miller, _finally_ got through to him on Friday.  Lee has apparently been dealing with an extreme case of survivor’s guilt while healing from the deep shoulder wound he got in Paris, and that by helping keep Winfield safe, he can atone for his failures to keep Will and Winfield alive,” he explained. “Since you are still listed as Winfield’s emergency contact, I thought I would ask you first.”

James silently considered the problem.  He wanted to help Lee recover, he knew what it was like to stew in guilt over the failure to save someone close.  Yet… James couldn’t explain it, but something kept him from saying ‘Yes’ right away.  He trusted Lee, he just couldn’t say yes quite yet.  “I’ll need time to think on it, I’ll talk to Lee when I get back from Sydney.  It’ll only be a week at most,” he said, standing up.  He paused, and then asked, “Is that all, sir?”

M nodded, and then gestured for him to leave.

James offered a mock salute, and then left the office without another word.

It was a bittersweet walk down to Q-Branch, as it always was.  He missed walking down there even to just bother the technicians, but at the same time, Alex would always be there to challenge him (both in play and in seriousness).  Nowadays, James never went down there unless absolutely necessary, and he knew some of the techs missed having him around (even if they’d rather die than admit it aloud, he saw how they watched him whenever he was down there collecting or dropping off equipment).  When James arrived to the labs on the lower levels of MI6 though, he wasn’t surprised to find that Q-Branch was still bustling around as though Alex had never left, giving him that odd sense of comfort to see that some things never changed.  James nodded to the few technicians that looked up at his entry, but he didn’t stop to chat.  Instead, he walked to the open door of Q’s office, glancing at his phone to note that he only had ten minutes before his next appointment.

Q was perched on the former workbench, three open monitors in front of him as he made data points on a graph on the table in front of him.  The only changes he’d done to the office was moving furniture around, but other than that, left his predecessor’s (few) decorations on the walls as they were.  R, a woman James knew as Marcela Nicholson, cleared her throat when she saw James standing in the doorway, making Q jump.

“You know, if I didn’t know you any better, I’d say you were hiding something from me,” James remarked casually as Q scrambled around to face him.  “Did your meeting with M not go as well as you’d hoped, and now this is revenge?” he asked, leaning against the table.

“More like a semi-authorized surveillance of Miss Moneypenny, double-oh one, and double-oh nine,” Q admitted, nodding to the far right screen.  “Doctor Miller paid us three hundred quid under the table to keep tabs on double-oh one today,” he added, stepping back to let James see.

James leaned on the table to get a better look.  He recognized the main conference room at Royal International; he and Alec had snuck in there once to keep Tess company for lunch.  Now though, Eve was locked in a battle of wits with Royal International’s director, Mr. Putnam.  Tess and Lee, being the attentive 00 agents they were, were either fighting sleep (Tess) or texting underneath the table while never once looking away from the discussion (Lee).  James didn’t recognize the few others in the room, but he still smiled fondly when his gaze settled on Alex.  The younger man was trying to pay genuine attention to the argument, but was mostly examining something under the table with his neighbor, a man James didn’t recognize.

“Who is sitting with Alex?” James asked, ignoring the _imaginary_ curl of jealousy in his gut when he saw how close the two were sitting.

“Relax double-oh seven.  Just an IT intern, his name is Edd Ferris Holton.  He’s from Manhattan, his father helped arrange this internship for the year while Holton studied at the London Business School,” Q said, looking slightly offended.  “I screened _everyone_ before allowing Winfield’s job application through to the director for the final decision.”

James nodded, trying to swallow down the growing irritation as Holton said something to make Alex laugh, the first real smile James had seen from him in months.  “Wasn’t there another American in the intern pool?” he asked, recalling his conversation with Tess and Rat.

“Michael Frederick Sandler.  Tess punched him when he kissed her against her will.  Talk about a rush job in erasing incriminating security footage, still not my best one to date,” Q admitted, sliding off the table.  “May I see your Walther?  I just need to see if it needs a tune up, and you’ve got several hours before you’re scheduled to leave for Istanbul.  You’ll have a connecting flight to Sydney from there.”

“Any other toys for the mission?” James asked without looking away from the screen.  He wanted to reach out and touch Alex’s image, but was well aware of Q and R behind him.

“Just a double-bladed knife.  While M has full faith in Martin, he’d also feel better if he knew you were similarly armed.  Especially since Kaminski’s been spotted in Sydney as well.  Martin still has the small throwing knives he had when we recruited him, so he’ll be taking those as well,” Q said, pulling a _very_ familiar silver blade from its sheath as James turned to face him.  James instantly recognized it as one of three of Will’s prized blades; Alex had made them a few weeks after Operation Skyfall, unashamedly admitting later that he’d done it to get on Will’s good side.  The double-edged blade was designed to appear as an ordinary throwing knife in order to fool opponents, and Will had been _proud_ to use them.

“Is this all right?” James asked, taking the blade from Q to test the weight.

Q understood.  “Yes.  The only stipulation is that both knives return here after the mission’s completion.  Martin got one as well,” Q said quietly, watching James.  “The third blade of the set, unfortunately, is still missing.  We’ve finished cleaning up the rubble from the base, but the third knife wasn’t there.  Not even Lee remembers what happened to it, he said that the attack was a complete blur to him,” Q added, handing the sheath over to James.

James nodded, carefully sliding the blade back into the leather.  He glanced back at the camera screen, specifically at Lee.  The sniper seemed tired and completely worn out, his shoulders slumped forward as he slowly placed the phone back on the table.  “Who was he texting?” James asked despite himself.

Q made a face.  “He, ah, picked up an American girl at a pub over the weekend.  I stopped monitoring those on Sunday morning because I was getting nauseous at how _gooey_ she was being and he was going along with it,” he said, shuddering.  “M had requested that we keep an eye on him just in case, M and the shrink were worried about his mental stability during off-duty hours.”

“And the girl’s name?”

“Carolyn Hatter, he calls her ‘Carrie’ just because it rhymes with ‘Lee’.  Like I said, it was starting to get a little nauseating,” Q said while R rolled her eyes.  “Anyway, Carrie is a tourist from Bryn Mawr, she’s here in London while on holiday break,” he added, handing over what looked like a printed sheet of texts.

“Bryn Mawr?  Never heard of it,” James said, scrunching his nose when he saw last few messages.

“I would hope not, it’s a women’s liberal college in Pennsylvania,” Q said, a slight edge of warning in his tone as he took the printout back from James.  “They’re _very_ familiar with each other, apparently he met her on his last mission to the States and they hit it off well.  Which means that it either could be good for him or it will be a devastating fallout once she returns to the States.”

“And he’s hoping that watching Alex will ease the pain of when she leaves?” James asked skeptically.

Q shrugged uncomfortably.  “He believes it’s entirely his fault that Boss got hurt and that Will died.  Carrie seems to be doing wonders to his psyche, but Miller thinks that Lee needs full closure in order to continue healing,” he said.  He glanced at R and then back at James.  “Lee and Will were very close, just like you and Trevelyan.”

“Lee was the best man at Will’s wedding and is the godfather to all three of his kids, I know they were close,” James said, trying to picture life without Alec.  Finding it too difficult of a prospect to properly face, he turned to Q and said, “When does the flight leave?”

“You and double-oh two are scheduled for departure at twenty-one hundred hours tonight, private chartered flight.  M wants to wrap this up as soon as possible,” Q said, reaching for the familiar dossier that undoubtedly everything necessary for the mission inside.

“No.”

Q froze at the word.  “I beg your pardon?” he said, turning back to James.

“I said no.”  James leaned forward and said, “Get me a later flight.  I’ll meet up with Martin at Sydney.”

Q narrowed his eyes.  “Perhaps you forgot that this was a time-sensitive mission, double-oh seven.  Why should I give you a later flight?” he asked warily.

James hesitated, and then said in what he hoped what was a steady tone, “I have a prior commitment two hours before that, and I will _not_ let this one slip by.”

Q still looked unconvinced.  If anything, he looked faintly angry.  “Well, it’s good to see that you’ve moved on already,” he remarked acidly as he turned to shut off the camera to the RIE conference room.  “In that case, my answer is definitely no.”

James let the insult go past.  Careful to keep the desperation from his face, he straightened.  “In which case, I’ll make sure Alex gets his computer back, I can’t do anything else to it anymore.  I’m all out of ideas,” he said, backing away to leave.  “In which case—”

 _That_ certainly caught Q’s attention.  “Ah, ah, before you go, perhaps we can work something out that would work for everyone involved,” he said, perking up in his seat while R frowned.

 _Hook, line, and sinker._   “Perhaps.  I could even toss in a free, personal delivery if you’d like,” James offered, moving back to lean against the workbench.  “It’s sitting in the same nightstand drawer that Alex always kept it in whenever he was home with it,” he added, growing more and more smug as the interest grew on Q’s face.  “Push my flight back to midnight, and I’ll give you the laptop.”

Q frowned.  “Have you tried to log on?” he asked.

“Once.  It’s rigged to first melt the hard drive and then explode after five failed attempts,” James admitted, running a hand through his short hair.  “It’s a seven digit code, but I can’t even begin to think of another possibility other than the one I tried.”

“Which was?” Q prompted.

“May sixteenth, two thousand and thirteen.  The day I gave him the blueprints to start rebuilding Skyfall,” James said, still able to recall the delight on Alex’s face at the opportunity to have raw materials to work with when it came to designing home security networks and other tricks.  The two had worked on the floor plans, and James, when he could, stayed in touch with the contractors hired to build it again. The home had been completed two weeks before Paris, the same day the Riddler resurfaced to taunt MI6 again.  James had planned to take Alex there after the Riddler was caught, but as with everything else, his plans went awry once more.

Q sighed and shook his head.  “I should have known that your mutual love for explosions would come back to haunt us one day,” he said tiredly.  He rubbed his eyes for a few moments before he said, “Fine.  You can have your midnight flight if you bring me Winfield’s laptop by two today.”

James smiled.  “Isn’t life so much easier when you start seeing things my way?” he asked pleasantly.

Q scowled.  “Just give me the bloody Walther already, I need to check it over before giving it back to you,” he complained right as a shrill beeping suddenly blared through the room.  “What the fuck is that?” he demanded, turning to check a monitor.

“Me.  I have another appointment to keep,” James said, pulling his phone out to silence the alarm.  He handed over the Walther, scowled at Q’s curious expression, and then said, “It was the only way Tess would let me have the car today.”

“Be _careful_ then!” Q said to James as the latter turned to leave.

“Aren’t I always?” he asked over his shoulder, glancing once more at Alex’s image on the screen.  _See you soon_ , he though before leaving the Quartermaster’s office.


	12. Chapter 12

The trip back to his flat was long on foot, but Alex was distracted enough so that it didn’t matter to him.

He kept his belongings close to his side as he walked down the pavement toward the flat complex, still turning over the meeting with Universal Exports in his head.  Eve Moneypenny turned out to be an unusually stubborn opponent against Putnam as the two haggled over the price of using RIE employees and resources for a competitor’s problem.  Had Putnam not been turning red in anger, Alex knew he would have given into the temptation to egg Moneypenny on, he could tell she was used to negotiating with stubborn men and getting her way in the end. 

Putnam turned out to not be an exception.

Alex meanwhile had been planning to stop Eve after the meeting, before she left, and ask if they used to work together before the accident; he still recalled what he’d found during his hacking venture, and now that he knew someone was out to kill him, he needed all the information he could get.  Caroline however managed to stop him before he could approach Moneypenny; she pointed out that they already knew that Eve worked for MI6, and the last thing the two of them needed was an interested secret intelligence agency poking around Alex, adding to the allure of whatever had initially attracted trouble to him.

He really did hate it sometimes when she was right.

Walking into the lobby of his building, Alex blinked at the sudden blast of warm air as he approached the front desk.  He moved his clothing bundle to the other arm to better reach for the bell to summon Ms. Ridley, but stopped when he saw that she was already on the phone with someone else.  Figuring he’d grab his post first and then check to see if Daniel texted back, he turned and then stopped in his tracks.

Daniel was leaning against a supply closet on the other side of the lobby near the mailboxes, completely relaxed even when he spotted Alex watching him.  He was wearing jeans and a faded T-shirt, and while Alex tried not to stare appreciatively at the sight, he knew he failed because Daniel’s grin only widened.  “Got your text,” Daniel said when Alex walked over.  “Delightfully vague of course, but I guessed that you would be more specific tonight.”

Alex nodded.  “It’s, ah, complicated to explain through text and even here in the lobby, but we can head up to my flat,” he said quietly.  “I do apologize about the late notice, but things got… difficult this morning.”

Even though he wasn’t looking for it, he still saw the shift from calm to alert in the other’s man posture while he uncrossed his arms and straightened.  “How difficult?” Daniel asked, keeping his voice down.

Alex hesitated, and then said, “Like I said, not in the lobby.”  He stepped back, resisting the urge to check over his shoulder for the threat he knew wasn’t there.  As he gestured for Daniel to follow him, he glanced at Ms. Ridley by chance, and found that she was glaring at him, the phone still pressed against her ear.  The woman she was helping, a new resident named Margot Phillips, was eyeing Daniel warily, giving Alex the impression that he might have missed something.  “Did you say anything to them?” he whispered as he pressed the button for the lift, and Daniel hesitated, and then nodded.

“I might have been a little _too_ persistent about asking for your flat,” he admitted as the lift doors opened.

Alex nodded as the two of them stepped inside.  “Ms. Ridley is very protective about her tenants.  I like to think that it’s because she cares about us, but I think it’s more that there will be no one to pay rent if she didn’t take excellent care of us,” he said, grinning slightly as Daniel laughed, a warm sound that chased away the cold.  “I’m afraid I don’t have much in the way of drinks, just a bottle of Scotch that a friend gave me, but have you eaten yet?” Alex asked, belatedly remembering his manners.  It had been too long since he’d had anything resembling a social visit…or close to one, as the case may be.

He didn’t count Evan’s visit from the other day.  Just his proposition put Alex on edge, and Alex didn’t want to think about it any more than necessary.

“I’ve already eaten, I don’t mind waiting if you haven’t,” Daniel offered as the lift came to a stop on the eighth floor.

Alex hadn’t, but he’d gone without a meal before, and he didn’t want to waste any more of Daniel’s time.  It had already been a last minute arrangement, and he knew he was lucky that Daniel was able to accommodate him.  “No, no, it’s okay.  I ate at the meeting we had at work today, my boss provided an early dinner,” he lied, gesturing for Daniel to follow him into the hall, which was deserted except for Heather down the hall, unlocking her door.  The two of them nodded before Alex turned to unlock his own door, trying to balance his package under one arm.

“Oh?  If you don’t mind me asking, what was the meeting about?” Daniel asked, reaching down in time to catch the package from falling out onto the floor as Alex muttered to himself, trying very hard not to fumble with the key out of a sudden case of nerves.  Mentally berating himself, he righted the key and stuck it in the lock, trying not to think of how nervous he must appear to Daniel right now.

“Oh, um, a rival shipping company came in, they were looking to see if RIE had a hacker on our IT staff.  Which we technically _don’t_ , but I’m the closest we’ll ever get to having a hacker,” Alex admitted, remembering Daniel’s earlier question as he nudged the door open with a foot to keep Missy from either bolting, shredding Daniel’s jeans, or both. 

He didn’t have to turn around to see the grin on Daniel’s face.  “Do a bit of hacking in your university days?” Daniel asked as the two of them entered the flat, the cat conspicuously missing from the living room altogether.

“Something like that,” Alex said, glancing worriedly around the flat as he shut the door behind Daniel and turned a few lights on.  “I forgot to ask if you were allergic to cats, but Missy likes to scratch anybody but me, so if you see her, either back away or keep her at a distance while I get her food dish to distract her,” he said, mentally smacking himself for the oversight.  “Here, I’ll take that,” he said, taking the bundle of clothes out of Daniel’s hands and setting it on the coffee table.  “Yell if she shows up or if you want something!”

“If you don’t mind breaking the Scotch out, I could use some of that right about now,” Daniel said as Alex darted into the kitchenette, moving his laptop out of sight.  Alex felt bad enough about getting Daniel involved with a potentially crazy gunman and other shadows in the hazy gray of Alex’s past, he didn’t need to get the other man deeper into trouble.

He found two glasses in the back of the cabinet next to the first, and, after silently thanking Caroline for the Scotch bottle that she’d given him as a welcome-to-RIE gift, pulled that down as well.  He set the three items on the counter, ducking down to pick up Missy’s foodbowl.  Just the fact that she hadn’t even been in the living room when they walked in the door was worrisome on its own.  Alex tried to reassure himself that she was probably watching the pigeons from his bedroom window, but knew he wouldn’t relax until he’d actually seen her. 

“Daniel,” he said, walking out of the kitchenette, still holding Missy’s bowl.  “Have you seen-”

He stopped dead in his tracks, unable to completely comprehend what he was seeing.

Missy found Daniel all right.  She was sprawled on her back on Daniel’s lap while the latter sat in the armchair on one side of the coffee table, which he’d moved between the loveseat and the armchair.  Alex could hear her purring from where he was standing, and could only stare in wonder as Missy’s head lolled to the side while Daniel absently scratched her belly and chest, his thoughts clearly elsewhere as Missy rolled to her side under the ministrations.  Daniel meanwhile didn’t seem to be staring at anything in particular, but Alex somehow just _knew_ that the other man was somewhere else.  “Well, stranger things have happened, I suppose,” he said finally, watching as Missy rolled to her other side, still demanding attention.

“That, or she knows that I occasionally watch my coworker’s cat while he’s away,” Daniel said lightly, a warm smile on his face as he gestured for Alex to sit down.  “Come, I’m still puzzled over the text.”

Right.  Alex had almost forgotten about that.  “Yes… Daniel?  There’s something I need to tell you in order for the text message to make any sense,” he admitted quietly, setting the bottle and glasses down on the coffee table.  Sitting down in the loveseat while running a hand through his hair in frustration, he looked at Daniel, whose blue eyes were full of curiosity as opposed to suspicion.  “I have retrograde amnesia,” he blurted out, taking the leap of faith that Daniel wouldn’t use it against him.  “There was an… accident of some kind six or seven months ago, no one ever really told me what, and I lost three years of my memory,” he said, looking down at his hands.  “The reason I was at the National Gallery on Saturday was because I was looking for the painting that triggered a few suppressed memories.  Those were manifesting as nightmares, and my therapist wanted to know what the trigger was so that we could work backwards from there to make another link.”

“Did you ever find that trigger?” Daniel asked carefully, body tensing slightly.

“Honestly?  I want to say it was _The Fighting Temeraire_ , given the ensuing panic attack, but I wanted to be absolutely sure before I tell her,” Alex said as Daniel leaned forward to open the bottle of Scotch, and then poured a generous amount for the two of them.  He somehow managed to guess the same amount that Alex was used to drinking on the rare occasion he did.  “The reason for the text is this: I think someone tried to shoot me in the ‘accident’, and there’s a chance he or she may come back to try again.”

Daniel paused, and then lowered his glass as Missy readjusted her position on his lap.  “What makes you think it was an intentional shot?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Aside from the amount of dried blood on the returned laptop case, my old jacket has a hole that lines up with the injury on my shoulder,” Alex said, setting his own glass down before reaching for the clothing bundle.  “If you examine the entry carefully,” he said, unzipping the plastic covering and pulling the jacket out, “You can see that the lack of frayed edges means that it was a clean shot, which you can only get from a direct attack.  Something threw him off balance, I suspect that if he could, he would have killed me at the time,” he explained, laying out the jacket for Daniel to see.  “But there’s something that is keeping him from coming after me, and I need to find it first before he does.”

Daniel nodded as he casually sipped his drink.  “Always sound logic.  Do you have any clues to the man’s identity?” he asked.

Alex shrugged.  “Just… there was something weird about his name, like it was an anagram of his alias,” he said, brow furrowing as he tried to think.  “That… that and I think I’ve heard it recently, I just can’t think of it at the moment,” he added distractedly as he looked down at his hands, frustration creeping into his tone as he tried desperately to remember while fighting off the encroaching headache.

“Alex.”

Daniel’s voice, warm, familiar, and _safe_ , brought Alex back to the present as Daniel reached over and gently lifted his chin so that the two made eye contact.  “When you remember, then you can call or text me.  Then we’ll go after the bastard together, and then you won’t have to look over your shoulder anymore,” he said quietly, blue eyes focused intently on Alex.

Alex slowly shook his head.  “I don’t want you to be in unnecessary danger.  I’m already risking arrest as it is, I don’t want you getting hurt or killed just because the problem was bigger than I thought,” he said, eyelids fluttering close as Daniel’s hand gently cupped his chin.  Distantly, while he knew that he barely knew Daniel, nothing seemed strange about the gesture.

“Well then, Alex, you’ll be happy to know that I can take care of myself,” Daniel whispered, leaning forward slowly as he gently drew Alex closer, still maintaining eye contact. “It’s you that I’m worried about.”

Alex quirked a sad smile before shaking his head, and started to withdraw from Daniel’s hand.  “Something I don’t understand, James, is why are you so quick to care about what happens to me when –”

His words, drawn from a half-forgotten memory, were cut off as the other man impulsively leaned closer and closed the distance, somehow remaining gentle as he brushed his lips against Alex’s own.  The touch, small and brief, sparked an ache in Alex’s chest, a reminder of a happiness that had once been his, and he couldn’t describe it as anything but a yearning to have it back.  He did not resist as his eyes slid shut, familiar hands resting on the back of his neck as he set down his glass so he could reach for the other man, to cling to his shoulders and hold him close.  Alex tightened his grip, holding him as though he stood to lose everything if he let go, deepening the slow, lazy kiss.  He was barely aware of standing up, just knew that he was being gently pressed up against a wall as James held him close and that everything felt _right_ and that he never wanted to lose that feeling again because he felt complete.

It took him a few seconds to realize that James was holding him tightly, and when they broke for air, James leaned down and buried his face in Alex’s neck, nuzzling his collarbone as a hand went gently around his waist while the other went to the back of his neck, tangling in his hair.  Alex closed his eyes again, wrapping his arms around James and held him still for a few moments.  “James, why does it feel like you’re saying good bye?” he finally asked in a soft voice.

The other man didn’t respond, just held him tighter as though afraid to let him go.

Alex hesitated, and then asked, “James?”

_Knock, knock!_

Both he and Daniel jerked back at the sharp raps on the front door, Missy growling as she jumped onto her windowsill perch.  Praying that his face wasn’t growing as red as it felt, Alex muttered, “Sorry about that, I-”

“Too much to drink, I understand,” Daniel finished, nodding to the bottle and glasses still on the table.

Alex nodded, silently grateful for the excuse as he turned and walked over to the front door.  Behind him, Daniel sat back down in the armchair, Missy jumping back into his lap once he was settled.

Heather Nelson of all people was standing in the hall, looking both sad and awkward when she spotted Daniel over Alex’s shoulder.  “Hi… am I interrupting anything?” she asked carefully, twisting the hem of her shirt in her hands.

Alex shook his head.  “No, you’re not,” he said, glancing back at Daniel, who nodded in confirmation.

Heather nodded.  “Well, there’s someone named Marcela Nicholson on the phone downstairs for a Mr. Whishaw?” she said, glancing between the two of them.  “Something about an emergency?”

Daniel sighed as he gently picked Missy up and put her back on the armchair.  “Must be a last minute change in shipping timetables, they’re hard to predict,” he said, glancing at his watch, frowning, and then shaking his head as he stepped past Alex to get his coat.  Then he promptly shut the door on Heather before turning to Alex.  “If anything, and I mean _anything,_ comes up, call me at the same number you texted me.  If I don’t answer, then I’ll call right back,” he said, slipping his coat on.  He started to raise his hands as though to rest them on Alex’s shoulders, thought better of it, and then let them fall at his side.  “I’ll be back at the end of the week.”

“Where are you going?” Alex asked, hoping that the slight hurt in his tone wasn’t as obvious as it sounded to him.

“Vienna.  Meeting up with an American client,” he replied, grinning faintly.  Alex didn’t understand the humor, but smiled anyway.  “Which means I’ll be in reach if you need anything,” he said as he reached for the doorknob.  “Be careful,” he said, and then left the flat, closing the door behind him.

The resounding _click_ echoed in the suddenly lonely flat.

Alex sighed, and then headed back to the coffee table to begin cleaning up.  Missy growled unhappily from her spot on the armchair as Alex picked up the emptied glasses and the bottle, noting the small splash of Scotch on the table.  Setting the glasses and bottle on the kitchenette counter, he grabbed a small cloth and headed back to the table.

With a loud yowl, Missy suddenly darted from the armchair to hide underneath the table, tripping Alex in the process.  He reached out reflexively, somehow catching himself in time by placing both hands flat on the table.  He hissed softly in pain as something in the jacket dug into his palm, catching him by surprise.  “Sometimes Missy, I can’t decide if you or life hates me more,” he said, standing up again to examine the small, rectangular imprint on his palm.  Curious, he turned the jacket over, looking for the one zipper that appeared to have escaped the fate of the others.  Locating the object again— _definitely an interior pocket_ —he kept two fingers on it as he used the other hand to locate the zipper.

Alex grinned when he found the zipper (or at least something that closely resembled it) just inside large seam that had extra fabric covering the clasps.  The clasps looked and felt as though they’d been specially treated with something, and Alex couldn’t wait to figure out what once he’d dealt with the other object first.  Undoing the clasps, he dug out what looked like a small memory drive.

He quietly studied it, sitting down on the loveseat again.  His first instinct was to call either Daniel or Caroline, but he made no move towards his mobile.  He knew phone lines could be tapped, and there was no telling what his attacker did or didn’t know at this point. 

_Definitely a direct shot, no way someone would let this go with anything less._

He moved back to the kitchenette, located his laptop, and set it up on the counter before powering it up.  The first thing he did, since it was his first use since hacking MI6 with it, was check his security and network logs for any further hacks.  Pleased to find that MI6 evidently gave up that night, he pulled a kitchen stool over and then inserted the memory drive.

The first thing that happened was a pop-up warning him that the laptop did not have enough memory space to download all the files, but Alex hadn’t had plans to sift through the entire thing, he wanted to know what it was he got shot and hunted for.  He just wanted to view the last opened file, which was at the bottom of the list of labeled files.  The most recent date, at the bottom, read ‘16-05-2015’…the same date that had been the termination date of his Universal Exports employment. 

Were they MI6 files?  The labels didn’t give much away, just a brief description of the file itself.  The one he was about to open, the most recent one, was labeled ‘Audio Transcript: 2124-6607’, and the others didn’t look too promising either.  Frowning slightly, he opened the audio transcript, and then started looking through a phone call that looked sickeningly familiar.

_One is an anagram of the other._

The feeling of controlled panic as he began erasing the memory systems.

 _Watch this one_.

The man over the comms, unshakably calm despite the escalating situation.

_MI6 has a traitor in the ranks._

Alex blinked, shaking himself out of his thoughts, automatically closing the computer lid so he wouldn’t have to see the transcript anymore.  He rested his forehead on the heated computer lid, blinking rapidly as he remembered the flash of a welcome smile, a dead man’s pulse disappearing from the monitor, and garbled words that made no sense as he closed his eyes in a vain attempt to block it all out.

_What the fuck was the gunman’s name?_

Alex shook his head, standing up as he raised the lid again.  He had his work cut out for him if he wanted to put a name and face to the threat, and he’d need it in order to convince Caroline of the increase in the severity of the situation.  Then, if Daniel was as good as he claimed, they could work together to stop the gunman before Alex became another name in red on the ledger.

Readjusting his glasses, he turned and filled the kettle to get the water heated for the first cup of Earl Grey; he knew he was going to need it in order to pull this off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Margot Phillips is an OC belonging to randomlittleimp, and requires her permission to use elsewhere.
> 
> (Also, if you haven't already, go read randomlittleimp's Courtships series. It starts with seeing James and Q interacting but from an outsider's (Margot's) perspective, and then Alec comes in the next story. One of my favorite series in this fandom).


	13. Chapter 13

“Caroline, we need to talk.”

Her head snapped up as he approached her desk in what he hoped was a calm manner.  It was early afternoon, but it was the first moment all day he could spare to come up and visit her.  “Did something happen last night?” she asked anxiously, hands stilling on the laptop keyboard.

“Yes, I figured out _why_ I got landed in the hospital seven months ago,” Alex said, leaning on the desk so that he could lower his voice and his chances of being overheard.  “It took me the entire night and breaking my promise to you about hacking MI6, but I figured it out,” he said, bracing himself for the inevitable disappointment on her face.

Caroline stared at him.  “You stayed up _all night_ to figure this out, _and_ you hacked MI6 _again_?” she repeated, looking stunned and hurt all at the same time.  “How important was this that you felt it necessary?” she asked, leaning back in her chair to rub her forehead.  “I mean, how can I help you if-”

“As it turned out, _very_ important.  I had to double-check a theory I came up with last night, and waited until three in the morning to get back into the servers,” Alex interrupted, mentally steeling himself not to cave in to Caroline’s hurt expression.  “I covered up my tracks and everything, I was just in the personnel database, going through their agents and senior administrators,” he said.  “I left them something of a tangled mess of security clearances to clean up and then pulled out, but that’s not what’s important.”

“No, what’s important is that at the rate _you’re_ going, _we_ will have to go to South America in order to avoid prosecution or worse, _interrogation_ ,” Caroline countered, jabbing her pen at him warningly as she shut her laptop lid.  “ _Now_ , what was so important that you had to hack MI6 again?” she asked wearily.

“I had to double-check a theory that came up from both my nightmare and a memory drive I found last night, and-”

 _“Stop!_   Time out,” Caroline cut in, causing Alex to freeze in place.  “What’s this about a flash drive?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Alex took a few deep breaths to calm himself down.  “I found a memory drive in an interior pocket in my jacket, the one that the doctor gave back to me yesterday.  It’s hard to find if you don’t know about it.  I found it when Missy tripped me and I tried to use the table as a support,” he explained as Caroline nodded thoughtfully. 

“Makes sense.  What was on the flash drive?” she asked, folding her arms carefully on top of the closed computer.

“I was getting there.  Anyway, last night, after Daniel left, I found the memory drive in my jacket pocket.  It wasn’t until I was going through the last opened files, on my computer mind you, that I realized that I’d seen this memory drive before, but in what I had thought was a nightmare,” he said, pacing restlessly in front of Caroline’s desk.  “Caroline, the worst nightmare I’ve ever had was a suppressed memory… Ella said I’d be getting those as time went on,” he said, running a hand through his hair. 

“What happened in that nightmare?” Caroline asked quietly.

He paused, feeling the familiar twinge of fear in his veins as he turned to look at Caroline, hoping that seeing her would keep him grounded in the present.  “I…I’m underground somewhere,” he said quietly, moving to lean on her desk again.  “I’m underground with two men that I thought were allies, and that’s where I find the memory drive.  One man dies, the other tries to kill me.  He wants the data, but we’re both down.  I’ve got a bullet in my shoulder, he has a knife in his,” he explained quietly.  Leaning forward, he said, “That’s not even the punch line.  The man who tries to kill me, he’s an MI6 agent.  I double-checked on the records from both the memory drive and MI6 personnel lists.  So either MI6 has a mole in the ranks, or they are trying to kill me for that data.”

Caroline stared at him.  “No fucking _way_ ,” she whispered, horror flickering in her eyes as she leaned back in her seat.  She was quiet for a moment, and then whispered, “Which do you think it is?  Because either way, we’re _fucked_.”

Alex bowed his head slightly.  “I can’t decide,” he said finally.  “On one hand, I could have been in the wrong place in the wrong time.  Evan, when he stopped by my flat last Friday, said that I’d hacked MI6, so there’s the idea that I could have fallen off the grid and done illegal work on the side.  Then there’s the idea that I _did_ work for MI6, and the gunman was a traitor.”

“Which do you think is more likely?”

Alex stepped back and gestured to himself.  “Honestly?  The former, I don’t think I’m cut out for the espionage business.  I’d probably get shot on the first day on the job,” he said, shrugging with a shoulder before stepping back to the desk.

“Really?  I was ready to give you anywhere from four to six months,” Caroline said, sipping her coffee.  She pursed her lips in thought.  “The data on the drive… is it yours or someone else’s?” she asked finally.

Alex grimaced.  “Definitely someone else’s.  While it is another world domination plan, it’s actually one that stands a fair chance of working, especially given the rocky international and domestic climates at the moment,” he said, adjusting his glasses.  He paused, and then said, “Although, admittedly, the style is… familiar.  I can’t describe how I know it, but I feel like it’s something I’ve seen before now, even before the incident with the two men.”

There was a moment of silence before Caroline asked, “Elaborate?”

Alex bowed his head, trying to think of a scenario.  “It’s like… it’s like seeing one terrorist’s plans, setting them aside for a long time, but when you reach back to look at them again, the plans are similar, but with enough small variations to disguise the fact that the new author took them from someone else,” he said, trying to think of a contemporary example.  “Like…”

“Mention that horrid book, and I’ll stab you with this pen,” Caroline warned, reaching for the ballpoint she’d set down earlier.

“Duly noted,” Alex said, taking a slight step back from the desk while never looking away from the pen.  “But you knew where I was going with that.”

“Exactly.”  Keeping the pen closer in reach, Caroline turned back to Alex.  “The gunman… does he have a name?”

“Yes, it took me four hours to find a match in the MI6 personnel lists and the drive’s personnel lists.  According to the plans of the gunman’s employers, key members of MI6 had to be removed.  The director, the Chief of Staff, and four double-oh agents,” Alex said, recalling the numbers in question: 002, 006, 007 and 009.  “Double-oh seven and six had the highest priority out of all the named targets, something about being ‘semi-immortal unpredictable cannons wielding guns’, or at least that’s what one of the reports said.  The MI6 Quartermaster, their version of the IT Division chief, was to be left alone since he apparently had a trained successor already in place, and it would be wasting resources to kill him.”

Caroline made a face.  “Lovely. And how this mole get away with it?” she asked, casually tapping her pen against her laptop.

“Anagrams.  The gunman’s alias is an anagram of his real name.  It’s actually kind of clever, hiding in plain sight and taunting the enemy at the same time.  But he’s laying low because he lost that memory drive, and he’s either too scared of his employer, or he’s waiting for me to give him a sign that I remember the drive, and then he’ll move in for the kill,” Alex said, leaning in really close so that he and Caroline were almost touching noses.  “Caroline, you can’t tell _anyone_ about what I just said.  I’ve got to hold him off until Daniel gets back, he’s in Vienna right now but he’ll be back and he’s willing to go after the gunman with me.”

“What if I want to come too?” Caroline asked, sticking her lower lip in a mock pout.  “I can keep an eye on the gunman’s activities, help you steer clear of him for now.”

Alex nodded.  “I’d greatly appreciate that.  Thank you, Caroline,” he said, reaching out and carefully squeezing her hand gently, a movement she gently reciprocated. 

“Alex… the name.  What was the gunman’s name?” she asked quietly after a moment.

“It’s-”

“Winfield!  Bright!” Putnam barked as he came into the lobby from the main entrance.  “I am _not_ paying you two to socialize!  The Universal Exports visitors will be here any moment, and the sooner they can go,” he said crossly as he headed toward the lifts.  “Bright, when they get here, take them straight to the same conference room as yesterday.”

“Yes, _sir_ ,” Caroline muttered sarcastically under her breath as Alex watched in surprise as his boss stormed off.  “Someone had a fantastic night last night…”

“Did he get into another shouting match with Moneypenny?” he asked as she stood up, gathering papers.

“Hell if I know.  The only shouting I heard was the colicky toddler next door, kid wouldn’t stop crying until past one in the morning,” Caroline said, stifling a yawn.  “I still think he was faking half of the symptoms, but given that I know I wouldn’t make a good parent, I wouldn’t know,” she said, shrugging as she placed her laptop back into her desk drawer.  She sighed, and then said, “I guess I’ll see you in a few minutes then, upstairs.”

Alex nodded, and said, “See you” before turning to leave.

“Oh, and Alex?”  When he glanced back at her, she hesitated and then said, “Maybe you can answer my question after the meeting with Universal Exports?”

“Of course, see you then,” he said before turning back and heading straight back to the IT Department.  “Holton, are you ready to head upstairs in a few minutes?” he asked as he walked into the department, heading straight for his desk.  “We’ll have to be ready for them soon, Putnam says they’ll be here any minute,” he added as he pulled a Mac out from the reject drawer, turning it onto make sure it still worked.  He paused when he didn’t hear an immediate answer, and frowned as he looked up. “Edd?”

Holton was in the process of gathering his things while giving a spooked Michael Sandler plenty of space.  The American had finally returned after several days in the hospital, but was still extremely skittish, giving all female staff a wide berth.  Alex tried to help him by keeping him busy in the Intern Corner and not running errands like the others, but it often had mixed results as some of the female staff still went to the Corner for assistance with one thing or another.

“Is everything all right?” he whispered when Holton joined him, clutching his own bag.

Holton shrugged.  “He was doing fine until Emma came in asked us to get some requisition forms for her, it went all downhill after that,” he whispered, glancing warily at the woman in question, who was chatting with another staffer.

“Was Emma the one who punched him?” Alex asked, glancing back at Holton.

“Not in as many words,” Holton said carefully.  “We interpreted it as a ‘yes’ anyway.”

Alex nodded grimly as he folded the laptop shut, satisfied that it was working sufficiently.  “I’ll talk to her after the meeting, we’re going to be late as it is,” he said, wishing not for the first time he had the power to suspend her. Stuffing the laptop into his bag, he gestured for Holton to follow him, Emma catching up a moment later as the duo headed out of the department and for the stairs.

The meeting was on one of the higher floors, in the same room as yesterday’s meeting.  Admittedly, Alex hadn’t paid much attention beyond the fact that Moneypenny soundly defeated Putnam; he’d been distracted comparing mobile apps with Holton underneath the table.  He took solace in the fact that he at least stayed awake, while both Caroline and Emma had fallen asleep while leaning on each other.  Holton may or may not have taken photographs when Putnam wasn’t looking, something Alex wasn’t going to reveal since Caroline and Emma had a row the moment they woke up and realized who their pillow was.  Now though, the tables were arranged in a semi-circle around a middle table that had a box of cables and a projector sitting on it.

There were two more people than Alex was anticipating, when he walked into the conference room.  First there was Putnam and Caroline, just as he expected, along with Moneypenny and Reardon from yesterday.  Alex made brief eye contact with Reardon, and he paused, almost taking an involuntary step back before he gritted his teeth and stiffened his spine, refusing to give Reardon the satisfaction.  Reardon, to his credit, didn’t react beyond a raised eyebrow, but Alex still caught the flash of acknowledgement in the other man’s eyes.

_Fuck._

At that point, the older man next to Putnam turned, as did a vaguely familiar woman next to him.  “Is this the technician you promised me?” the man asked, turning back to Putnam, who nodded quickly.

“Winfield, this is Colonel Mallory of Universal Exports.  He is in charge of their domestic affairs,” Putnam said as Alex stepped forward to shake Mallory’s hand.  “Colonel, this is Alexander Winfield, the newest employee here at Royal International.  He’s quiet one, but a hard worker.  Couldn’t ask for a better technician,” he said as the two of them shook hands.

“Isn’t the quiet ones you have to watch out for?” Mallory countered in a mildly disinterested tone before turning to face Alex.  “New technician?  How long have you been working here?” he asked as he calmly studied Alex’s face for a few moments.

“Five months, sir.  Just temporarily filling in for Mr. Andrews, the division chief,” Alex replied, trying to guess if Mallory was really an Universal Exports employee or was actually somewhere in the MI6 hierarchy.  He gave what he hoped was a genuine smile, and Mallory seemed to accept it. 

“Very well then, Mr. Winfield. It will be interesting to see what you can do,” Mallory said before gesturing to his companion, who quickly stepped forward, clutching a thin computer case as though her life depended on it.  “This is Marcela Nicholson, the IT Division chief at Universal Exports.  I would greatly appreciate it if you could work with her so that we may duplicate any of your tricks back at our corporate headquarters.”

Alex nodded, handing his laptop off to Holton so that the other man could set it up and he could examine the computer that Nicholson was about to hand him.  “What can you tell me about the laptop?” he asked as the two of them trailed after Holton to the table in the middle of the semi-circle.  Conversation slowly zoned out of his mind as he began to settle into a familiar environment of computers and sanctioned hacking.

“Well, it has a seven digit password to get in, with two attempts remaining.  We’re not sure of the failsafe that the owner had in place to prevent theft, but there’s a possibility of a _minor_ explosion of the hard drive if the wrong code is entered,” Nicholson admitted, looking sheepish at the flash of horror that crossed Alex’s face.  “The owner had a few, uh, personality quirks and we wouldn’t put it past him to make it, um, blow up in the event too many people tried to get into it.”

“Evidently it wasn’t enough to help him, even though it’s valuable,” Alex said as he gingerly unzipped the case to examine the computer.  Then he nearly dropped it on the table when he saw the state it was in.  “Dear God…” was all he could manage, belatedly remembering the high chances of it being explosive and somehow _not_ dropping it altogether.

Nicholson winced as he turned the modified Mac over, bracing him when he nearly whimpered at the laptop’s appearance.  “Yeah, the owner… he kind of dropped it,” she said finally as he studied the crumpled edge.

“More like _slammed_ it into the ground,” he said, squashing down his horror and grief at the sight of a beautiful piece of tech covered in nicks, dents, and an entire _side_  scrunched into itself.  “Does it even still _turn_ _on_?” he asked, wincing as he opened the lid to find several large cracks in the screen.

Nicholson nodded. “We tested it last night,” she confirmed as Holton carefully tapped Alex on the shoulder.

“Your computer is ready to go, sir,” he said, glancing between the two of them.

“Good, we’ll start by calculating how many password combinations we could get out of ten numbers… Ms. Nicholson, do you know anything about the owner that could help?  Favorite numbers, dates, codes, names?” Alex asked as he pressed the power button, glancing back at Nicholson, who looked slightly uncomfortable. 

“Well, the problem is that he was a very private man, even kept his personal life to himself even if we did know who his partner was and what they got up to,” she admitted, nervously brushing some bangs from her face.  “Anyway, the only three numbers that I think would be remotely useful would be zero zero seven, in that order.”

Alex nodded as he leaned over to type those three numbers into the decoder.  “I’m going to use one of those two attempts once I have a viable login password,” he said, glancing at her, and she nodded.  “If that does not work, I am going to assess if the laptop’s still on a network, in which case I’ll try a brute force attack on the firewalls.  If not, then I’ll try to get into the security coding surrounding the login screen and security settings.  If anything, it’ll be the latter most likely to trigger any memory erasures or, God forbid, explosions.”

Nicholson nodded.

“Are there any programmed hints to this?” he asked, glancing at her.

She opened her mouth to respond, but Alex completely missed her answer as another, familiar and comforting, voice sprang into mind.

_“Are you telling me that the great Quartermaster needs a password hint?”_

_A scoff.  “Of course not, James.  I don’t bloody well need one when I have you.”_

_A low laugh.  “Feeling sentimental all of a sudden?”  A soft kiss brushed against his brow._

_“No.  And the password isn’t ‘BOND007’ before you try.”_

_Of course._ It had been staring him in the face all this time.  He’d just not seen it... or chosen to ignore it.

“Sir?”

Alex jerked out of his reverie to find Nicholson looking worriedly at him.  She carefully placed a hand on his shoulder, and tentatively asked, “Are you all right, sir?”

Alex shook his head as the full weight of the realization dawned on him.  James.  The same James he’d been mistaking Daniel for.  Bond.  The man’s face he could never see.  James Bond.  He was MI6.  

_Missing, believed killed, while on an official mission to Turkey…_

Shaking the image of the online obituary out of his head, Alex found himself sinking into a chair that Holton had helpfully provided.  When he looked up, he was surprised to see Caroline standing there, not Nicholson.  She knelt at his side, and gently placed a hand on his shoulder.  “Alex, what happened?” she asked, frowning when she took in his expression.  “You look like you’ve just seen a dead man.”

“More like remembered one,” he said, taking his glasses off and pinching his nose, as though to ward off the oncoming headache.  He knew he was still missing something else, something important, but in the interest of staying relatively sane, he forced the thought aside as he tried to reconstruct James’ face but couldn’t focus long enough to create a clear image. 

“Who?” Caroline gently pressed, leaning closer so that they were almost touching noses.

“James… James Bond… he’s dead.  It’s, um, complicated to explain right now,” he said, gently nudging her aside so that he could shakily stand up again.  _Very_ well aware of the MI6 personnel behind him, knowing that he couldn’t tell Caroline that he’d found James in one of his hacking ventures, he said, “I’ll tell you later, I’m not feeling that well right now,” he said, glancing at the login screen now lit on the damaged laptop.  He felt another chill run down his spine as he recognized the user icon photograph, and then calmly shut both Macs as Caroline stood up as well.  He glanced at Holton, still standing to attention next to him, and then said, “Please take down this equipment and take it back downstairs and back in their proper containers.”  To Caroline, he asked, “Do you think you can cover for me?”

The two of them glanced at Putnam, who was arguing with Moneypenny again.  Mallory was leaning back in his seat, watching the argument with a slight, smug expression on his face while he did nothing to assist or hinder Moneypenny.

“Yeah, shouldn’t be hard,” Caroline said as Alex slipped a laptop back into the slim computer case.  “Want me to take this back to Nicholson?”

“Please.”  He placed the other computer back into his bag, zipping it shut and holding it close to his body.  Making sure that Emma wasn’t paying attention, he said, “I’m going to sneak out and just call a taxi, you can tell Putnam that I was about to be sick, and then left early today.  Stress and exhaustion.”

“Okay.  I’ll come with you downstairs, I left something in my desk anyway,” Caroline offered, moving so that her body blocked Alex from view of the other occupants.  Wrapping an arm around his waist as they left, she said, “I can even swing by your flat and make you dinner, if you’d like.  We could catch up.”

Alex shook his head.  “I won’t be good company tonight, not after that,” he said, pressing the button for the lift.  “Sleep and food is all I want at the moment, in that order,” he added apologetically as the doors open.  “But tomorrow, we can have lunch together and then plan our next move.  Daniel’s in Vienna right now, so we’re waiting for him to come back before making our move against the gunman,” he said, moving the strap to be more comfortable over his shoulder.

Caroline smiled softly.  “Perfect,” was all she said as they stepped onto the lift and she pressed the button for the lobby.  “So what’s the deal with this James Bond character?” she asked, grimacing as though realizing the flippancy of her tone.  “Sorry.”

“It’s all right, hard to miss what I can’t remember,” Alex said, careful to keep the grief out of his tone as he leaned against the wall of the lift, feeling the energy drain out of his limbs.  “Maybe that’s the first thing I’ll do once everything’s blown over.”

“Yeah… what was the gunman’s name anyway?  Is it someone we’ve met?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Alex hesitated for a second.  “No, it isn’t.  I was wrong, I was thinking about the night on the way down to the IT Department to collect Holton and Emma, and I think I was remembering the wrong person,” he said, ducking down to stare at his hands, namely the thin scars that ran along the backs.  He’d gotten those in Paris, he was sure of it.  “I’ll check again tonight, just to be absolutely sure,” he added after a moment, looking back up at Caroline.

“Oh.  Okay, be careful then,” she said, smiling softly as the lift doors opened to the lobby.  She gestured with her head towards the lobby and said, “After you, then.”

He smiled, and, shifting the computer bag again so that it was in front of him this time, he stepped off the lift and headed straight for the doors, reaching for his mobile.  “Don’t wait up for me, I’ll talk to you some more tomorrow,” he said over his shoulder before he pushed through the revolving glass doors.  Caroline walked towards the floor-length window and stood there, gently hugging herself as she watched him weave in and out of parked cars before reaching the sidewalk, where he raised a hand to hail a taxi.

She waited patiently until a black cab pulled up and collected him, not moving until the doors had closed and the taxi was gone from her vantage point.  Then she turned and headed back to her desk, deciding not to be a liar for once and actually get the damned phone that she’d stupidly left in her desk drawer.  She hummed to herself as she walked around the desk, opened the main drawer, and then reached in, feeling around the numerous objects until she finally located the barely used cell phone in the back.

There were only three unlabeled numbers programmed into it, and she’d only ever had to use two out of the three, one more frequently than the other.  She dialed that one now, praying that they would all be able to get out of this unscathed.  She listened to the phone on the other end ring for a few minutes, and then said, “Hey, it’s me.”  She hesitated at the question, and then said, “Sorry, it's just that we might have... a little problem.  And by little problem, I mean we’ll have to move soon.” 


	14. Chapter 14

Even though it was hours after the incident, Alex still felt guilty for lying to Caroline.

Especially since he was going to desperately need her help once MI6 discovered that he switched laptops on them.

The cold air stung his exposed skin as he walked through Hyde Park, where he’d spent the rest of the afternoon hiding from MI6 in the off chance that they checked his flat for him or the stolen laptop.  The stolen laptop was still with him, tucked safely away in his computer bag where he’d put it after the switch, something that hadn’t been too difficult to pull off; Caroline had looked away to watch Moneypenny and Putnam argue, Nicholson had moved away, and Holton had been putting equipment away.  A little white lie satisfied Caroline’s curiosity in finding out the gunman’s name; it had been her persistence that unnerved him the most. 

_Does it really count as stealing if I took back what was mine?_

It was a shaky case.  The image of the icon photograph on the login screen, small as it was, burned in his mind.  It had been of a bigger man (face turned away), asleep in Alex’s armchair with Missy sprawled across his lap, fingers resting on her belly.  Alex would recognize Missy’s distinctive coat patterns anywhere.  The original photo, he knew, had to be on the laptop along with some long sought-after answers.  It had been a split-second decision, and Alex figured he’d regret it only once MI6 came for him.

His skin tingled as he walked into the front lobby of his building, nodding a hello to Ms. Ridley as he headed toward the mailboxes, trying to keep to his original routine despite the fact that all he wanted to do at the moment was bolt upstairs to his flat and lock the door shut and pray he would survive the night.

He was pulling his post out—bills, ads, stuff to be binned later—when he heard footsteps approaching and found Margot Phillips move to stand near him and open her own box, lips pressed together in a thin line.  Alex may have never dated a girl, but he certainly had a female friend once, and knew the signs of the spurned rather well.  “Are you all right?” he asked carefully, trying to give her the option of backing out of answering the question if she chose.

Margot shrugged.  “I’ll live, I suppose,” she said, closing her box and going through the few letters she had.  She hesitated, and then asked, “How well do you know Alec Trevelyan?”

“Not very,” Alex admitted.  “He lives in the flat above me, but we haven’t really spoken all that much ever since I moved here.  All I can tell you is that he has a friend who travels to the States sometimes,” he added after a moment, recalling the one conversation he’d had with Trevelyan.

“Mm.  Maybe I should ask his friend to take me with him next time,” she said, shrugging with one shoulder.  Shaking her head, she said, “It’s not really important, I’m sorry for bothering you.”

“It’s all right. May I ask why you want to know more about Trevelyan?” Alex asked, locking his own box before stuffing the keys back into his parka pocket.

Margot shrugged, before running a hand through her hair in frustration.  “I really want to get to know him, but it’s times like these that remind me of how little I actually do.  He’s a great person and fun to be around, but he’s very reserved, doesn’t talk about his work other than that it requires him to make trips out of the country frequently.  I know he’s in the country right now, but he _might_ have stood me up earlier today and I just wanted to know what’s going on.  His phone was off when I called and I’m beginning to wonder if _I’m_ the clingy one or something,” she said, shaking her head as she placed the unwanted post into the bin near the mailboxes. 

“Call him one more time, except the flat this time.  There’s always a chance that he forgot to turn his mobile back on or he had to leave at the spur of the moment.  Daniel did that last night, so I wouldn’t be surprised if the two worked together or something,” Alex said, nodding to Ms. Ridley who would undoubtedly have the phone number.  “If he doesn’t respond, then he can call back.”

Margot nodded.  “I’m sorry for dumping that on you, it’s been a frustrating day overall.  Some programs refused to cooperate at all and it was hard to tell who was going to lose their temper first,” she said, smiling sheepishly.

“It’s all right, I’m right there with you in both regards,” Alex said, patting the bag for emphasis.  He glanced at the front door reflexively, belatedly remembering MI6, and then said, “Give it a try, and see what happens.”

“All right, thank you.  For listening,” she said, smiling briefly before heading to the front desk.

Alex, meanwhile, headed for the lifts.

He waited until the lift doors had closed before slowly exhaling, slightly easing the tension he hadn’t realized he had in his shoulders.  Leaning against the back of the lift, he closed his eyes, unhappily recalling the incident at work, aware now that he couldn’t force the memories to come back.  A smile twitched on his lips as he remembered the flash of blond hair, startling blue eyes, rough callused skin, and an odd sort of loneliness returned, sharper now that he could finally put a name to the faceless man.  Alex slowly wrapped his hands around himself, trying to ease the slowly growing ache in his chest as the lift doors opened on his floor and he stumbled out.

He fumbled with the keys to the flat, trying not to see the printed ‘ _Missing, believed killed_ ’ as he finally managed to unlock the bloody door and stumble in.  Noting that Missy was still curled up on the couch, asleep, he realized that MI6 hadn’t invaded after all; there would most likely be shredded clothes or even small blood stains if Missy had been lucky enough to get a swipe in. Shutting the door with a _snap_ , he closed his eyes and leaned against the cool wood, breathing heavily as he _remembered_ James’ face, the scarred skin under thin fingers, the sense of love and safety that he hadn’t felt in so long until rather recently, when-

_No._

_No._

Alex pushed away from the door as a numbing sensation settled in his limbs, moving away from the entrance while also gathering the almost-forgotten computer bag and taking it with him to the couch.  He remembered _exactly_ the last time he’d felt that way: last night with Daniel.  If Daniel and a memory of James could evoke the same emotion, it was highly likely that the two were one and the same…not to mention that the two looked eerily similar (assuming Alex’s mind wasn’t tricking him further).  _If_ Daniel Whishaw was also James Bond, that revelation complicated things even more; Alex had no idea what the other man was thinking.  Something was wrong if ‘Daniel’ saw fit to lie about not only his identity, but also about being alive.  Then there was the fact that James was MI6, an organization that seemed to masters at infiltrating into one’s life as a perfectly innocuous participant.  It made sense for Daniel/James to do that, especially since he already worked for ‘an international sales company’.  Alex sat down on the couch, pulling out the battered laptop and powering it up before reaching for his mobile.  He texted Daniel ‘ _Where did you say you worked again?’_ and then nudged Missy aside to put the laptop case aside, unwittingly glancing at where he’d hidden the memory drive in the kitchen.  For all he knew, that was what MI6 wanted, not him.

There really was only one way to test that theory.  Alex knew a bargaining chip when he saw one, and it would draw Reardon’s ire away from him.  He’d have to be careful about handing it over to MI6, especially since Daniel already knew he had it.

Logging into the laptop turned out to be relatively easy; he closed his eyes and ran on instinct, tapping out the seven digits—four different numbers, one of them four times—then he leaned back on the couch, feeling smug as the home screen appeared. 

_Beep!_

Alex picked up the mobile, noting the speed at which Daniel had replied.  His heart sank into his chest when he read Daniel’s reply— _‘Universal Exports, why?’_ —and tossed the phone aside, smile twitching on his face when Missy managed to swat it to the side, where it clattered to the carpet under the coffee table.  “Good girl,” he said, rubbing her belly before turning back to the desktop.  Then he adjusted his glasses and got down to work.

The desktop was sparse, with a light blue background and a few folders labeled with numbers instead of names.  Curious, Alex opened the first one, and found a series of PDF files once again labeled with numbers.  The first was over a hundred pages, and seemed to be of a construction project, scanned blueprints to be exact.  He sensed the thrill of a challenge as he studied the security schematics, complete with keypads, high-speed wireless networks, and other treats.  It would be a tricky venture, given the numbers he was looking at, but still doable.  There were all sorts of handwritten notes in the margins; all in his handwriting, and in blue ink.  Most were notations about cable lengths, dimensions, and needed equipment. There were a few phone numbers of contractors on the very edge of the paper, and Alex paused through his perusal when he found a page of what looked like the main floor with a large, light brown stain over it.  Someone, in pencil and with a messier scrawl, had written ‘ _Great Tea Spill of ’13.  Missy did it.’_   Underneath was Alex’s writing again, where he wrote, ‘ _Note to self: scan pages of work tomorrow, too many children at home’_.  Despite not having any specific memory of the incident, Alex still found himself grinning slightly.  He scrolled back to the top of the PDF, looking for the title of the schematics.

SKYFALL

Alex frowned, suddenly remembering the bloody word association game Ella had made him complete at his last visit.  His response to her word, ‘Sky’ hadn’t been a fluke after all; it had actually meant something!  Grinning, he turned to Missy, scooping her up as he said, “It’s coming back Missy!  I’m not going crazy!”

Missy let out a ‘ _mraow’_ of protest as he squeezed her gently in a hug.  He kissed the top of her head before he heard the familiar _beep_ of another incoming text message.  He let the ruffled cat go before ducking down to pick up the forgotten phone, smile fading slightly when he saw that it was from Daniel.  Nervously, he opened the message and leaned back to read:

_And don’t listen to Alec, he tells nothing but lies. ;)_

Alex felt another twist in his gut.  Alec Trevelyan knew Daniel/James?  How?  Through work?  They had never once mentioned knowing the other, which could mean that Daniel knew a different Alec, but what were the odds?  Alex hadn’t seen Trevelyan’s name when scouring MI6 personnel databases, but then again, he’d stopped at 001 once he’d confirmed the match between Lee Reardon and Roan Deeler.  He could also play safe, and assume that Trevelyan was MI6 until proven wrong (after which, he could always send an anonymous apology to the other man).  That still left the question of why James became interested in him before the memory drive ever became a factor, _before_ he lost his memory since they’d evidently been together before then.  There was always the hacking in university, especially since Evan had given him no reason to distrust him…

_Mraow?_

He smiled weakly as Missy bumped her forehead against his elbow, purring as he scratched her back.  “Why did you have to like the one man that’s probably on the verge of arresting me?” he asked as he picked up his mobile again and dialed a familiar number.  He listened to it ring for a few moments, and relaxed when he heard the _click_ of someone picking up the other end.

 _“Hello?_ ”

“Caroline, it’s me, Alex,” he said, navigating out of the folder with the Skyfall plans and clicking the next one. “I, um, might have made a mistake about James.  I don’t think he’s dead,” he said, studying the file labels in the open folder.  Curious, he clicked on the first one as he added, “In my defense, I just figured it out.”

There was a momentary silence, and he thought he heard her sigh.  Then she ventured, “ _That’s a great thing, right?  Even if he is MI6, he’s still alive.  Where is he?”_

“Well, he told me Vienna, but given that he’s lied to me about who he was, I wouldn’t put it past him to lie about that too,” Alex said, smiling bitterly to himself as he studied the specs for an exploding pen; he’d known about this one, given that he found the hard copy a few months ago while unpacking his things in the flat.  “And no, this is not a great thing, Caroline.  He’s alive, but masquerading as Daniel Whishaw.  If I couldn’t remember him before, then why would he lie to me about that?”

Caroline let out a soft cry of despair.  “ _As if Whishaw wasn’t unavailable enough!”_ she complained as Alex rolled his eyes.  “ _Seriously though, why is this bad? Aside from the lying.”_

“Remember when we talked earlier this afternoon, about whether MI6 had a mole or if they were actively hunting me down for something that I did?  It was the latter, I have no evidence suggesting the other possibility,” he said, wondering how many designs he’d stolen from the MI6 servers and files all those years ago, given that some of these looked as though he’d written on them and then scanned in.  “Evan said I used to hack MI6 on a bet.  What if I stole something from MI6, James was tasked to retrieve them, and got close to me in order to get closer to the data?” he asked, adrenaline coursing through his veins as he realized that this could very well be what had happened.  There was nothing to suggest the alternative.  “I lose my memory when trying to escape the double-oh agents, and now James is getting close again for the data _and_ the memory drive, which I stupidly showed him last night,” he asked, studying the blueprints for an improved Walther PPK, complete with handprint recognition and automatic targeting specs.  No wonder MI6 badly wanted their data back.

There was a dull thud on the other end of the line. _“Sorry, dropped something.  Didn’t you mention once that you had a profile on Universal Exports?  Wouldn’t you have appeared in the MI6 databases if that were the case?”_ she asked.

“Trust me, I checked.  Nothing,” he said, obliging Missy with another back scratch before going to the next gadget, a prototype jammer designed to blend in with computer equipment.  He let out a short, harsh laugh.  “I was a mark, Caroline.  I did something stupid and illegal, MI6 saw me as a threat, and James was sent to get close and carry out their orders.  But I lost my memory after making a misstep and tangling with terrorists, so now their job is that much harder.  Oh God, what will James do to me once he takes it back,” Alex asked, trying to stamp down the oncoming panic.  “I’ll be a liability… _fuck_ …”

Caroline exhaled sharply.  “ _Alex, listen to me.  No one is going to die, understand?”_

“Caroline, I think there’s a second MI6 agent here in the building, of course someone is going to die,” Alex said, shutting down all of the programs before turning the laptop and shutting off the lid.  “I think I need a drink…”

Caroline sighed.  “ _Well, seeing as misery loves company and I’m getting lonely, why don’t you come over to my apartment for a drink?”_ she offered.  _“You could even stay the night if you’re that worried about MI6…”_

“Thanks, but I’ll see how I feel about the sleepover once I’ve had something to drink,” he said, tucking the laptop back into the case as he balanced the mobile between ear and shoulder.  Placing it back on the coffee table, he said, “If you could give me your address, I’ll call a cab, it’s no problem.”

“ _Actually, I was about to head out anyway when you called, I left some forms for Putnam in my desk at work,”_ Caroline admitted sheepishly.  “ _I can pick you up on the way.”_

“No, it’s out of the way.  I can meet you at RIE, I don’t mind,” Alex countered, grinning at the impromptu verbal sparring match. He glanced at his watch and said, “I’ll leave now, and meet you there.”

“ _All right.  See you soon!_ ”

“Yes.  And Caroline?”

_“Mm?”_

“Thank you.  For everything,” he said quietly, gently rubbing Missy.

He could almost picture her smile.  “ _No problem, Alex.  I’m your friend, remember?”_

Alex nodded, even though he knew she couldn’t see it.  “Yes, I do.  See you in a few minutes, good bye.”

 _“Goodbye Alex, and see you in a few._ ”  There was a deafening _click_ as she hung up.

Alex sat back in his seat, thinking for a moment.  James was going to be a tricky factor in this task, but Alex hoped that the lure of the data and the memory drive would be enough to ensure MI6’s cooperation for now so that he could escape their grasp at the end of all this.  Standing up, he grabbed his jacket, mobile, and house keys.  “Missy, watch the fort while I’m gone,” he said as he reached for the doorknob.  “Got it?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder at her.

Missy yawned and settled her head back in her paws, but Alex could see that she was now paying close attention to him.  Which was as much of a ‘yes’ as he was going to get from her.  He smiled to himself before leaving the flat.

He was downstairs, walking out of the stairwell when the lift doors opened and Trevelyan stepped out, chatting amiably with Margot as both pulled on their coats.  Margot glanced back briefly, and grinned when she caught Alex’s eye.  Alex nodded, grinning faintly and hoping he didn’t look as sick as he felt.  He waited until the two of them were gone before leaving the building himself.

He easily hailed a cab, and slid in, giving the driver the address for RIE. Then he leaned back in his seat, trying to figure out the best way to handle James without letting his personal feelings get in the way.  Like they did last night.  Alex wondered, for a moment, if he had any right to feel as hurt as he did about the deception and his discovery, seeing as it took him almost eight months to remember James even existed.  Perhaps he did, since James most likely still saw him as a mark in his pursuit to keep an eye on Alex and take back what was stolen.  Maybe the hurt was coming from the lost hope that there had been someone waiting for him to remember and return, loving him without ulterior motive.  He’d sort out the rest of his personal life after MI6 stopped closing in around him, when he knew he had time.

RIE’s building was ominously dark save for the lights at the entrance; Alex was familiar enough with the security systems to know that the front door lights were motion-sensitive.  Since they were on at the moment, Alex assumed, that Caroline had already gotten there, and was doing what she needed to do.  His theory was debunked a few seconds later though, when he pushed the unlocked front doors open and found that while Caroline’s desk lamps were on, the secretary herself was not there.  Frowning, Alex pulled his phone out to call her, but stopped when he saw that the phone did not have a signal.  Instead, he had a prompt suggesting that he power the phone down in order to save the battery.  Alex hesitated, and then complied even though he knew from experience that the RIE front lobby was _not_ a dead zone.  Walking around Caroline’s desk, he opened the main drawer and pulled out a stack of sticky notes. Grabbing the nearby ballpoint, he wrote,

_Caroline,_

_There’s a problem with the signal here, going to run downstairs for a moment to run a diagnostic and maybe fix the issue so that Putnam doesn’t blow a blood vessel in anger tomorrow morning when he finds out._ _If you get this note, come down and help me test to see if it’s working again.  If your leg is bothering you though, wait for me here.  I won’t be long. –Alex_

He scanned over the note one more time before pulling it off the pad and placing it right in the middle of her desk so that she couldn’t miss it.  He assumed she was there anyway, but he knew he couldn’t call to check until he’d fixed the signal problem.

The stairwell was empty when he flicked the light on, but he kept listening carefully for any other footsteps even as he finally reached the bottom and made the short walk to the darkened IT Department.  He frowned when he found the door to be unlocked already, cursed Emma for forgetting to lock it up before she left, and then slipped inside, turning on the room light as he did.  He opened the drawer of the main workstation and pulled out a small torch usually reserved for searching for small items behind the large desks, and then turned the lights off again.  He had only the image of the MI6 jammer to use as a basis for an idea of what to look for, so he ducked down and started looking.

 _Where is it?_   He kept searching the various cables that snaked around the room, nearly jumping out of his skin at a mouse that skittered past.  Making a mental note to ban food and place traps in the room tomorrow, he swallowed and kept looking, getting down on his hands and knees every time he encountered a nest of cables.  It wasn’t until he’d reached the Intern Corner that he found an eerily familiar device clipped to a cable underneath Sandler’s workstation.  He scowled when he placed it: MI6 design.  They were already here and he had no way of warning Caroline. 

_Not fair, not fair, not fair…_

The litany ran through his head as he carefully bit down on the torch so that he could still shine it on the device as he unclipped it from the cables, popping the battery case and shaking the small batteries out.  He smirked to himself as he watched the power light flicker and then die.

 _Gotcha_.

Pocketing the jammer and batteries, he pulled the torch out of his mouth, wiping it on his trousers before taking it into his left hand.  He began to navigate his way out of the maze of desks and chairs, heading towards the entrance as he pulled his mobile out again to try calling Caroline once more. 

There was no warning.

Something heavy slammed into his back, pitching him forward and sending both torch and mobile flying across the floor as he reached out instinctively to protect his face.  He curled his body at the last minute and slid into a shoulder roll to minimize damage, grimacing at the _crunch_ as the attacker tried to strike him again only to hit the mobile instead.  The torch, still lit, rolled to the front door, its outline barely visible in the light of the hall outside.

Alex lunged for the torch the same time his assailant did, fingers curling around the metal right as the light suddenly turned into his face, blinding him long enough for the other person to grab his hair and push his head towards the floor.  Alex promptly let go of the torch in order to move his hand to protect the side of his head.  He grunted when his head made contact with his hand, the shock of the impact still getting through.  His other hand flew up to grab the other person’s wrist, tightening as he used the wrist to propel his body around to get a kick in at his opponent.

He didn’t move fast enough.

He froze when he felt the cold, hard metal of a gun barrel pressed against his temple.  For a moment, no one said anything, both of them breathing heavily as Alex heard his heart pound in his ears.  He grunted when he felt the other person’s weight shift so that there was a knee in the small of his back so the person could lean forward.

“Twitch again, and I’ll blow your brains out from here to kingdom come,” a horribly familiar voice growled near his ear.  “Trust me when I say that we won’t miss you.  Although, it is good to have you back, Quartermaster.”

Alex felt as though he was going to be sick.

Especially when he remembered the speaker’s name a second later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Attention**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> So far, the tags to this story are accurate, including ‘Graphic Depictions of Violence’. I call your attention to this because the next chapters (15/16/17) will start to get darker, culminating in a discretion shot in a scene towards the end of Chapter 17. The discretion shot was a particularly difficult scene for me to outline/write, and I thought I would warn you ahead of time. If you’d rather, I wouldn’t mind posting chapter synopses on Tumblr about twenty-four hours after the chapter is posted if you do not want to read the chapter but still keep up with the story. We will return to James in Chapter 18.
> 
> The next chapter will contain slight violence.
> 
> Thank you.
> 
> Also, the character of Margot Phillips belongs to randomlittleimp.


	15. Chapter 15

“ _Holton?_ ”

“Shh, shh, we don’t want to broadcast my presence to any MI6 ears,” Edd Holton chided gently, pressing the gun harder against Alex’s temple as he shifted his weight on top of the other man.  Alex gritted his teeth when he felt the other’s knee dig painfully into the base of his spine, forcing his back down even more.  “You were a very, very hard man to catch, Quartermaster.  I’ll be _damned_ if I let you slip away again.”

It took Alex a few seconds to catch his breath again and regain confidence in his ability to speak without something breaking; Holton’s knee was applying enough pressure for Alex to feel sparks of pain each time he inhaled.  “Holton, what the _fuck_ do you think you’re doing?” he asked, propping himself up on his elbows to move his face away from the floor.  Somehow, he hadn’t lost his glasses in the scuffle.  “Have you lost your _bloody_ mind?”

“No, but I’m getting there.  I’m so sick of living here in London, and it gets worse when I remember that my employer is fucking things up back home.  I could be doing _better_ things right now if you hadn’t screwed everything up so badly back in Paris,” Holton growled, applying a little more pressure.  “Yet, here we are.  Your MI6 watchdog is out on the town tonight, and the other one will be taken care of shortly.”

 _There are two?_   “You’re wrong.  The other ‘watchdog’ as you so eloquently put it, left the country for Austria the other night,” Alex said, teeth clenched in an effort to keep the bitterness out of his tone.  James had never really been his to begin with, so he had no right to mourn James’ disappearance.

Holton was quiet for a moment.  “Really?  Gone?  Oh, good riddance then, I never liked that person very much anyway.  Too bossy, a real nightmare in the workplace,” he said, easing pressure off of Alex’s back.  Alex tried not to gasp too loudly when the pain disappeared and he could breathe again, but he knew he failed when Holton chuckled softly.  “Enjoy those breaths while you still can, Quartermaster.  Take comfort in the knowledge that come morning, you will never have to worry about such trivial things anymore,” he said, pressing the barrel harder against Alex’s temple before nudging him with it.  “Get up.  And slowly.”

The question slipped out before Alex could stop himself.  “Why do you keep calling me ‘Quartermaster’?  I…I don’t do that kind of work, I’m just a tech-” he said, slowly getting to his feet as to not spook Holton into shooting him.

He stopped talking when he felt Holton wrap fingers around his chin and twist his face around so that they were facing each other.  Well, as best as they could face each other with only the glow from the main hallway as their light.  He could feel Holton staring at him until his grip tightened for a fraction of a moment. “You really don’t remember, do you?” he asked finally.

Alex shook his head almost immediately.  “No, I don’t remember,” he said, wondering what it was he was supposed to remember.

“But you told Bright, about hacking into MI6, and that you knew someone attacked you,” Holton said, sounding confused.

“I was just repeating facts and things that I did to investigate,” Alex said bemusedly, remembering those few instances in question.  “All of that happened to me recently, not something I remembered doing months or years ago.”

Holton was silent, and then he sighed.  “That certainly complicates things, but as ever, it won’t be an issue.  Once we have the flashdrive that you told the bitch about, all you’ll be good for is insurance against MI6,” Holton said, shoving Alex’s face forward again.  “Put your hands behind your head and walk forward.  Slowly, mind you.  Do something I don’t like and I’ll shoot.  We don’t technically need you if the flashdrive _does_ exist, but the Riddler might still want a chat with you all the same,” he said, pressing the barrel to the back of Alex’s skull as he obediently clasped his hands to the back of his head.

 _The Riddler_.  Alex instinctively knew the name, and knew that the data belonged to him.  How had he met the Riddler in the first place?  Had they met through a work-related commission of some sort?  Alex cursed himself as Holton nudged him closer to the door.  Then he flinched at the loud _crunch_ as Holton deliberately stepped on his mobile: no chance of calling for help now.

“Something I don’t understand is why is it that you trust Bright instead of your own therapist,” Holton said as the two made their way out of the department and up the stairs to the main floor.  “I’ve been reading Thompson’s reports and tweaking them a little, you know, so that your former employers write you off as a lost cause.”

Alex scowled. “Those were personal,” he muttered under his breath.

“But then you switched laptops, _right under MI6’s nose_ , and took home their computer.  As far as I thought, you didn’t _have_ a reason to take it unless you recognized it,” Holton said as the two of them reached the top of the stairs.  “See, that’s why I chose to be an intern here.  No one pays attention to the interns, unless they’re loud like Sandler,” Holton added, glancing down the hall before nudging Alex in the direction of the main entrance. “At least Rat was willing to provide a sympathetic ear when I ran into him at a bar a few nights ago.  Even if he did get so plastered that he went home with the wrong girl thinking she was his PA.”

Alex made a soft hum of acknowledgement, trying to think through the panic and Holton’s chatter.  The Riddler wanted the memory stick back, but was less likely to spare his life as MI6 was.  He could only use it to buy extra time, but extra time might be all that he needed.  Then there was the matter of Caroline; he had no idea if she had run afoul of Holton or not, and if not, he couldn’t betray her presence. “How long have you been here at RIE today?” he asked hesitantly.

“Never left.  Needed to have a quick conference call over Skype, but because of the time zone difference and my nosy neighbors, I had to wait here until midnight, but your arrival changes things,” Holton said, gently steering Alex around another corner.  He pressed the gun harder against Alex’s skull, and then said, “Now do me a favor Winfield, and please keep quiet.”

Alex nodded mutely, silently trying to calculate the best time to either mention the memory stick or just escape altogether.  He was curious as to why Holton addressed him as ‘Quartermaster’ until Alex corrected him; James had evidently addressed him as such in a playful manner at some point, so it was more than just a nickname.  Perhaps a codename, one that he operated under until he lost his memory and subsequently his job.

_Tap, tap, tap-_

Alex’s head snapped up the second he recognized the distinctive sound of Caroline’s heels against the floor.  Holton merely reached out and tightly wrapped an arm around Alex’s throat and dragging him back so that he was flush against the other man.  “One word and I’ll shoot you first and then her,” he whispered in Alex’s ear, jamming the gun against Alex’s temple.  Alex winced, and then nodded.

Holton then turned and called out softly, “Who’s there?”

The footsteps stopped, and then after a second of silence, Caroline’s voice replied with “Holton?  What the hell are you doing here?”

 _Fuck._   Alex listened with growing horror as her footsteps resumed and he moved forward as though to speak, but Holton pulled the hammer back with a soft _click_ , and he fell still again, allowing Holton to tighten his grip again.  _No, no, no, Caroline, don’t come looking for him, you still have a chance to escape,_ he thought desperately as he heard her footsteps draw closer.

“I was just picking up some last minute stuff that Mr. Winfield wanted me to complete for tomorrow.  I accidentally left it here,” Holton said, changing his voice to sound a little nervous.

A sigh.  “You and me _both_ , kid.  I forgot some stuff that Putnam wanted me to file.  Speaking of Mr. Winfield, have you seen him around here?  We were supposed to…” Caroline’s voice died as she came around the corner and saw the two of them standing there, Alex with a gun to his head and Holton holding him back.  She took a half step back, face paling as she whispered, “Oh, my, God…”

“One _sound_ , and I’ll shoot him,” Holton said quietly.  Caroline, ashen-faced, nodded quickly but didn’t speak.  “Good girl, now put your purse, those files, and your phone down on the ground,” he said, calmly watching as she obeyed, the purse landing with a _thump_ on the ground.  Alex caught the shine of unshed tears in her eyes as she knelt to put her phone and papers on the floor, and he knew he had to get them both out of this since it was his fault they were here in the first place.  If he had just let her pick him up at his flat, or if he hadn’t called at all, they would not be in this position.  _It’ll be okay_ , he mouthed to her as she slowly moved to stand in front of him as instructed, her back to the two of them.

“Good.  Now if you do anything I don’t like or said not to do, I’ll shoot Winfield first, and then shoot you next.  Nod once to understand,” Holton growled.

She whimpered softly, but gave a jerky nod in response.

Holton then turned to Alex and whispered, “Utter a sound, and I’ll shoot _her_ first, you second.  Nod if you understand.”

Alex did, still keeping an eye on Caroline.  Her shoulders were hunched forward, shaking slightly, and Alex resolved to himself right there that at least Caroline would get out of this mess unhurt, even if he had to bargain away his own freedom.  Her bad knee would complicate matters, and the heels weren’t practical for running.  She hadn’t changed out of her work outfit either, which included a knee-length skirt.  She would need time, if anything.  Alex meanwhile still had his hands behind his head, the gun still against his temple and Holton still holding his throat.

_This is it._

Even though he was trying, Alex couldn’t come up with a scenario that ended with the two of them walking out of this alive.  Only Caroline left alive, he left alive, or neither of them did.  No one was coming for them; no one even _knew_ they were there.  Trevelyan would most likely be out all night, so even if Alex wouldn’t mind a timely MI6 intervention, it wasn’t about to happen.  Alex swallowed, well aware that he should get Caroline out first; she was a civilian and had nothing to do with this.  Time.  She needed _time._   They both did.

He glanced at her to make sure that she was doing all right, and could see that she was starting to limp now, favoring her right leg.  He prayed that she could at least make it to the main lobby, which he could see through the doorway up ahead.  Caroline’s right hand was resting on her upper thigh, as though trying to resist the urge to stop and rub the injured joint, her fingers flexing almost impatiently.  Swallowing nervously, he glanced up and realized that the security cameras were his only hope for rescue… rescue that wouldn’t come until morning.  Assuming that Holton didn’t erase the footage first, Alex had no idea the extent of Holton’s skills if he’d been able to hack Ella’s reports and alter them.

They were within steps of the lobby when Caroline’s knee finally gave out on her.

She gave a stifled shriek as she fell, her head making a dull _thud_ when it connected with the wall.  Alex dropped his hands and whirled around, using Holton’s surprise to his advantage to grab Holton’s wrist and jam the barrel against his own chest.  “Shoot me, and you’ll never find where I hid the memory stick,” he whispered harshly, narrowing his eyes as he made eye contact with Holton.  “All of your employer’s contacts, plans, data, _all_ of it will be gone if you pull that trigger.”

Holton stared at him, scowled, but didn’t say anything.  Muffled sobs broke the silence between them, and Alex held Holton’s gaze, not only praying that Holton would see reason but also _daring_ him to pull the trigger.  “I suspect that your boss won’t be pleased to know that you almost had the memory stick only to lose it because you couldn’t keep your temper in check,” Alex said coldly, keeping a firm grip on Holton’s wrists. 

“Do you even _know_ where the damn flashdrive is?” Holton sneered after a moment.

“Yes,” Alex replied without hesitating.  “Let me help Caroline up, and then let her go in peace.  Let her go home unmolested, and I’ll take you straight to the data.  Get you through all the security measures around it and everything.”  He noted the flash of wariness in Holton’s eyes, and then added, “You think I’m stupid enough to not know something valuable when I see it?”

“Alex… Alex, please don’t, don’t give it to him… don’t let him win,” Caroline croaked from behind him, but Alex ignored her.

“My terms, or no deal,” he said, keeping Holton’s gaze as his fingers slid over Holton’s.  “Let her go, and I’ll take you straight the memory stick.”

Holton carefully studied him for a moment, and then, to Alex’s shock, nodded.  “Get Miss Priss out of here, I can’t stand her anyway,” he snapped, lowering the gun.

Alex nodded mutely before turning around to where Caroline had curled into a ball against the doorframe and the wall, shoulders shaking as she cried silently into her hands.  “Caroline, shhh, it’s going to be all right, everything is going to be okay,” he whispered, catching a glimpse of her tearstained face as he knelt down in front of her.  “Remember what you said to me earlier today?  That nobody was going to die?” he whispered as he rested his forehead against hers.  She nodded mutely, gasping softly as she tried to calm down.  “Prove to me that you’re not a liar, and just go.  I’ll be fine.”

“Alex… don’t give him the drive, just don’t give it to him,” she whispered, voice ragged from crying. “Please, please don’t give it to him.”

Alex swallowed, gently pulling her into a hug and rubbing her back gently.  “He won’t kill me right away, he needs to get to my flat first,” he whispered.  “And then through Missy, but if I’m there, Missy will leave him alone.”

She turned her head slightly so that her nose and mouth brushed his ear. “Do you want me to call the police?” she whispered softly.

Alex swallowed before ducking down as though to pull her closer.  “Get through to Alec Trevelyan, tell him what happened.  He’s MI6, and it’s important that they know about the Riddler.  The Riddler's a terrorist, and MI6 has to know,” he whispered back, tightening his arms around her as though to comfort her.

She was quiet for a moment.  “So the important thing here is that MI6 knows about the Riddler?” she finally whispered.

“Yes, please do that for me,” he whispered back before pulling away.  Caroline sniffed and wiped her nose and eyes with her sleeve as Alex moved to her right side to help her, but she flinched away.  “Where are your medications?” he asked, moving to take her left arm and wrap it around his shoulders.

She swallowed before answering, “I… I left it all in my purse.”  She glanced nervously at Holton, who still had the gun trained on the two of them.  She shrank back and said, “Oh my God, I don’t want to die…”

“C’mon, help me out,” Alex said, bracing himself as he pulled Caroline up and let her lean on him.  He scowled at Holton stiffening, and said, “Holton, you know her knee is bad, let me just help her to the front doors.”

Holton scowled, and then muttered something under his breath before he said, “At least it’ll be easier to shoot the two of you if you try anything.”

Alex held Caroline around the waist, tightening his grip when she flinched and whimpered in his ear, her right arm shaking slightly.  The two of them began to move slowly, Caroline’s limp still affecting her walk as Holton remained close enough behind them for a pointblank shot.  Alex hesitated, and then whispered, “We should switch sides; we can do that when we get to your desk.  I can help you better-”

“No, it’s fine as it is,” she said through clenched teeth as they began the slow trek across the lobby.  She stumbled again, nearly knocking Alex over.  She stiffened at the _click_ of the hammer behind them, and then said, “It helps as we are, dear God, I need those meds…”

“That will be your first priority after you get home,” Alex said firmly.   “Get home and then get your medication.  Don’t worry about me, I’ll-” he broke himself off with a quiet curse.  “ _Fuck_ , Caroline, I’m so sorry I got you into this mess.  I was so caught up with Deeler and then MI6-”

“Hey, it’s okay,” she whispered, turning her head slightly to give him a soft smile.  “I’m sorry, too.”

Alex frowned.  “Sorry for what?” he whispered back, a sense of uneasiness running down his spine.  “What did you do?”

Caroline hesitated, and then admitted, “We-ell, it was actually more for something I’m about to do.”

Alex turned slightly to stare at her.  She looked calm now… _too_ calm.  He frowned, and then asked, “What are you going to-”

She calmly moved her left hand from where it had been resting on his shoulder, splayed her fingers against the back of his neck, and then  _shoved_ him forward and down to the ground right as Holton’s gun went off with a loud _bang!_   Alex instinctively rolled out of the way and managed to sit back up in time to see Caroline step forward and out of the way of the bullet, twisting her body to slam her forearm against Holton’s outstretched elbow.  His arm locked with an audible _crack_ , and he swore, dropping the gun and stepping back. 

Caroline swiftly kicked it out of the way and in Alex’s direction before advancing on Holton.  Alex snatched the gun, hands wrapping around the familiar handgrip of the Walther PPK as the three indicator lights on the top blinked red.  He carefully kept the lights out of Caroline’s sight in case she understood the significance of the color.  Then, feeling an odd sort of detached calm, he stood up and stepped back to watch the fight unfold in front of him.

Holton had backed away from Caroline, who stood there without any problem.  Holton seemed torn between running and attempting to slip past an expressionless Caroline.  Finally, Holton snarled and swung a punch for Caroline’s face with his good arm; the other hung uselessly at his side.  Caroline, meanwhile, stepped aside to avoid the punch before punching him in the ribs and then driving an elbow down into his spine the moment he folded in half.  Alex heard a sickening _crunch_ as Holton’s face made contact with the floor, and then Caroline kicked him in the side to flip him over.  Holton started to sit back up when Caroline moved to stand over him, a knife appearing in her right hand as she swiftly knelt and drove the blade straight into his shoulder, slamming him back into the ground again.  She did not flinch when his head thudded against the ground as he howled in pain.

Straddling him, she leaned forward and, keeping a firm grip on a semi-familiar black handle, she whispered, “What is the name of your MI6 contact?”

Holton stared at her in shock, breathing quickly through the bloody mess that was his face.  “You’re British?” he blurted out.  “I thought you were American…I thought Emma was the MI6 goon…”

“If you pick the right area of the States, you can easily go with both,” she snarled, the remnants of the American accent fading from her voice altogether.  “The _name_ , if you don’t mind,” she repeated.

Holton’s face contorted in pain as she twisted the knife.  “Fuck you,” he managed to gasp out between clenched teeth.

“Sorry, I don’t date people who try to kill me and those I care about.” Twisting the knife even more, she growled, “The fucking _name_ , if you don’t mind.”

Holton stared at her for a moment before he started chuckling, a chilling sound that echoed around in the lobby.  “Sadly, I _do_ mind,” he said, jaw flexing for a moment.  “I’ll say hello to your dear, dead husband for you, okay?” he added with a smirk, a tiny _pop_ audible for a second.

Caroline hesitated for a moment, caught off guard from the remark, and then swore when foam abruptly appeared at Holton’s mouth.  “Fuck _you_ , and damn you to _hell_ while we’re at it,” she spat, rearing back and even standing up to get away from the foam.  “And fuck whomever came up with the cyanide pill,” she growled, gingerly leaning back down to yank the knife clean out of Holton’s shoulder, wiping it clean with the hem of his shirt.  Standing up, she moved to lean against the nearest wall for support.

 _Click_.

Alex remained calm and still as he kept the Walther trained on Caroline… or the woman he’d thought was Caroline.  She eyed him warily for a moment before slowly bending down to lay the blade back on the ground near Holton before straightening up again.  “Move away, and sit down,” Alex directed, nodding to the visitors’ bench; he noted the pronounced limp as Caroline stepped out of her heels and walked awkwardly to the indicated spot.  He didn’t move the gun away from her as she eased herself down on the bench and moved so that she was facing the main doors and could prop her right leg up, keeping the knee slightly bent.  “All right, who are you _really?_ ” he demanded quietly, hoping he didn’t sound as hurt and angry as he felt.

She gave him a sad smile before she said, “Agent double-oh nine of Her Majesty’s Secret Service, reporting for duty.”


	16. Chapter 16

Alex didn’t even realize he was backing away from her until his lower back hit the edge of her desk, eliciting a soft hiss of pain as he stumbled slightly.  He reflexively lowered the gun to catch and brace himself, but brought it back up the moment he saw 009 move as though to approach him.  For a moment, he stared at her, trying to reconcile what he remembered of Caroline Bright with what he saw now in the MI6 agent in front of him.  Finally, after an indeterminable silence, he whispered, “ _Fuck_.”

“I'm sorry, Alex,” 009 said carefully, watching him warily now.  “I know you're scared of MI6 right now, but you have to believe me when I say that we aren't interested in you for the reasons that you think we are.”

“Then what _do_ you want from me?” Alex demanded, his heart sinking as he realized that he’d basically fed MI6 all the information they ever wanted to know in the last several _months_.  He was as good as dead.  “The memory stick?  Is that what you want?” he asked in a shaky voice.

009 was shaking her head before he even finished speaking.  “Like I said, not for the reason you think,” she said, extending her hands to show empty palms.  Swallowing nervously, she added in a steady voice, “MI6 doesn’t want to arrest you, Alex.  What you’re forgetting is that we _asked_ you to get that memory stick because you were in the best position to get it.  Unfortunately, we didn’t anticipate you getting attacked.”

Alex narrowed his eyes, unwilling to believe her.  While it was plausible that MI6 could have temporarily hired him as 009 claimed, and James would have been in the best position to convince him to do it, he also had no way to verify that it actually happened, since his only ‘witnesses’ were MI6 agents who had every reason to lie through their teeth to him.  He hadn’t lied to Holton when he said that he knew something valuable when he saw it.  Glancing warily at Holton’s still form, he shook his head after a moment and said, “No… no… nice try though,” he said, edging for the door; assuming that 009 hadn’t been lying about her injured knee, and was in as much pain as she claimed, he’d be able to escape to his flat, pack a few things, get Missy into her carrier, and then _run_ for his life.  To where, he had no idea yet, but hopefully he’d get the inspiration along the way.  Trevelyan would be easy to avoid; Alex had been doing a good job so far of not crossing paths with the other man without even trying.

“Alex, no, wait, hear me out,” 009 said, straightening as he reached for the door handle; he paused to better aim the gun at her as she moved to face him.  In a low voice, she asked, “Do you think that you’re safe now just because Holton is dead?  He was just the scout, the Riddler is still out there and he knows you’re in the best position to bring him down.  He’s going to try again,” she said, an edge of desperation audible in her voice.

Alex snorted, shaking his head.  “And why does MI6 care, if not for the memory stick?” he asked, feeling a twinge of guilt at the hurt expression on 009’s face.  “How many former employees, agents or contacts have they left hanging the _second_ they became useless or otherwise unable to help themselves?” he asked, feeling a flash of triumph when 009 froze at the accusation.  “If the memory stick is what is keeping me alive at this point, I can assure you that I will use it if need be,” he said, reaching for the door handle.

009 stiffened.  “Walk out that door, Winfield, and your chances of ending up like Holton will significantly increase,” she warned, and Alex reflexively lowered his hand.  “If not by our hand, than by the Riddler’s.”  She paused for a moment, and then leaned forward, eyes watching Alex carefully.  “What do you say to a deal?  Nothing fancy, just a little _quid pro quo_ and we never see each other again after?”

Alex narrowed his eyes.  “How do I know you won’t go back on your word?” he asked carefully, lowering the gun but keeping it out and at his side.

She leaned on one arm before she said quietly, “Because I kept every promise I ever made to you.  I never told anyone anything personal that you told me.  I never told my handlers that it was you who hacked into their servers last week; they had to send in an agent to check your laptop.  He-”

“Wait, someone broke into my flat?” Alex said, spine stiffening in shock. 

She grimaced, and then said, “For what it’s worth, the agent ran up a hefty medical bill because of Missy-”

“It was Trevelyan, wasn’t it?  How much have you all been encroaching on my life?” Alex demanded, anger flaring in his chest as he stepped away from the door to better face her.  “First James, then Alec, then _you_ … who else?  Doctor Redding?”  He palmed his forehead when 009 flinched at the last name, and then said, “Oh, for Christ’s sake…”

“Hand us the memory stick, enter the witness protection program while the Riddler is still at large, and then you’ll never hear from MI6 or any personnel again once it’s all over.  You can do as you please, so long as you don’t break the law, and you’ll never have to worry about us again,” 009 said, making steady eye contact with Alex.  “Either take that deal or leave it, but double-oh six and I have standing orders, and we’re going to complete them with or without your cooperation.”

 _And it would be easier for everyone if you cooperated_.  The words were left unspoken, but Alex heard them anyway.  He glanced at Holton again, stomach turning slightly at the sight of the congealing mass on the face.  Turning back to 009, he almost asked her as to the nature of the work he’d provided for MI6, but held himself back at the last moment.  “What will happen if I agree to go into witness protection?” he finally asked, making eye contact with her.

“A double-oh agent will be assigned to keep an eye on you, one who can actually keep up with you,” she said, subconsciously patting her bad knee.  “He’d be tasked with your safety, the two of you would leave the country if the occasion called for it.  Once the Riddler is dead, the two of you will part ways and you’ll never see him or any of us again.”  Leaning back in her seat, she also added, “We need you to come back to headquarters first, to drop off the memory stick and stay with us for a couple of nights, and then you’ll be permitted to return back to your regular life.  Except with, you know, company.”

“Sounds like you already have an agent picked out,” Alex said, finally slipping the gun back into his parka pocket.

009 shrugged.  “The Riddler is a stubborn man, we need a stubborn agent to match him,” she said, gingerly swinging her legs around so that she was sitting forward now.  She looked a little embarrassed before saying, “I actually need those meds though, the knee injury, um, that is real.  And it hurts like hell right now.”  She nodded to her desk and said, “I keep an emergency bottle in there along with a spare mobile, so if you wouldn’t mind grabbing that as well…”

Alex nodded, moving around her desk and opening the main drawer.  He raised an eyebrow when he spotted the small handgun next to the mobile, and said, “You want the gun too?”

009 shook her head.  “That is for emergencies _here_ , I don’t anticipate any more problems tonight.  This entire mission is classified to all except a few individuals involved, and all are either at home right now or on a date, if I had to guess where Trevelyan was,” she said as Alex picked up the mobile and bottle and carefully shut the desk drawer.  He looked up in time to see her glance at the knife still lying near the body, and he wordlessly went over and picked _that_ up as well.  He started to pick up her heels as well, but she shook her head and said, “Leave them, I have flats in the car.”  Alex merely nodded as he turned the blade over in his hand, admiring the double-edged blade before he walked over to her.

“Thank you,” she said, pulling up her right sleeve to reveal the slim sheath strapped to her arm.  Alex shivered slightly, but still watched in slight fascination as she slid the knife into place and then pulled her sleeve back down. 

Moving to her left side to help her up, he asked, “Was it really a car accident that damaged your knee?”

She nodded.  “Major miscalculation on my part,” she said as she stood up, slipping the mobile and bottle into her blazer pockets.  Leaning on Alex, she let him guide her toward the front door as she said, “It was during a mission, three or so years ago.  A guide back in Santa Fe was driving myself and one other person away from the target’s base, and the target set off a series of explosions.  The entire surrounding desert turned out to be minefield,” she said, nudging Alex to the right as they walked through; he saw a gray Aston Martin with _very_ familiar plates parked alongside the drop-off curb.  Alex eased her into the passenger seat, and she waited for him as he went around the car to get into the driver’s seat, handing over the keys as he buckled in.  “The guide happened to be uninformed enough to not know that the one road he’d chosen actually marked a buried gas-line.”

Alex grimaced as he pulled the car out into the main street.  “How long you were in the hospital?” he asked, glancing at her.

009 shrugged.  “Don’t know, I was drifting in and out of consciousness the entire time I was in Medical,” she said, leaning back in her seat.  She glanced at him, and then added softly, “He never said as much, but I think my handler at the time blamed himself for what went wrong.  My mission was his second overall, his first after a major disaster.  We, my partner and I, didn’t blame him.  Bad intel was something that always came up.”

“Maybe, since he was at a different angle of the mission, he saw a place where he could have done you a better service,” Alex replied calmly, never once looking away from the road.

009 was quiet for another moment.  Then she sighed before she said, “You were never ‘just a mark’ to James, you know.”

“Actually, I don’t know,” Alex countered, steeling himself to ignore the familiar ache in his chest.  Fingers tightening on the wheel, he said quietly, “I’m not ready to discuss this right now.  Perhaps when he returns and when we’re alone.  But not right now.”

009 pressed her lips together in a thin line.  “But you do remember him…just not what it was that brought the two of you together?” she pressed carefully.

Alex exhaled sharply in frustration.  “I can only remember bits and pieces.  It’s like there’s a huge block in my mind that I can’t get around, and it gets harder the more I try,” he said, making the last turn onto the street that led to his building.  “It’s frustrating for me, so I try not to press too much. Ella said that I would remember things in time, but forcing them wouldn’t help.”  He glanced at 009, who was cradling her head in her hands. “What’s wrong?” he asked, frowning.

“Even as an amnesiac, you _still_ make us double-oh agents look bad by listening to the doctors,” 009 said, rubbing her temples as she straightened up again.

Alex was quiet for a moment as he pulled into the car park.  Then, shrugging off her comment, he turned the car off and said, “I’m going to go get both of my laptops, Missy, and the memory stick.”

“Wait, why are you bringing the cat?  You’re not going to be gone _that_ long,” 009 said, frowning as she turned to face him.

“She’s all I have left.  Either she comes with me, or we both don’t come and the deal’s off,” Alex said, silently challenging 009 to say no.  He didn’t think she would, not after the long discussion earlier, but her answer would also gauge how much she wanted that data.

009 blew out a breath through clenched teeth.  “ _Fine_ , but _you_ handle her.  I saw what she did to the retrieval recruit and double-oh six.  I’m with the MI6 Technical Services in that she’s possessed,” she said, crossing her arms.  She tilted her head up at him, and asked, “Any chance we can get our laptop back?”

“Well, as they say there’s always a grain of truth in every myth.  And no, you may not have the laptop back it if was mine to begin with,” Alex said, smiling cordially before shutting the car door.  He only grinned briefly when he caught sight of 009’s raised finger through the window.  Then he took a deep breath to steady himself before walking towards the building, mentally preparing himself to remain calm in case he ran into someone he knew.

The main lobby was deserted except for the night guard, who was reading a book, but Alex walked through quickly, silently glad that the lift was already on the main floor as he pressed the button for his floor.  He slumped against the wall, allowing himself to relax for the first time in hours as he fought to rid himself of Holton’s image in his mind.  The stolen Walther was still in his pocket, and he sincerely hoped he wouldn’t have to use it since it most likely didn’t work; he still remembered the specs for the handprint recognition from his recovered laptop.

He absently rubbed his forehead, trying to chase the ache away as he stepped off the lift.  Shaking his head, he unlocked his front door and entered the flat, placing his foot in the open crack to keep the cat from escaping.  Missy would be the hardest to find and then catch; he’d have to get her into the carrier first since the laptops and memory stick weren’t going anywhere in the meantime.

Keeping the flat’s lights off, in case someone was watching the property, he moved to the bedroom and got down on his knees to get the fabric carrier from underneath his bed.  Then he stood up, turning to leave when he realized that he could see his breath in the dark each time he exhaled.  Numbly, he turned to find that his bedroom window was wide open, the white gauze curtains fluttering like ghosts in the breeze.

 _Did Missy get out?_ Praying that Missy hadn’t escaped, Alex moved back into the living room, searching frantically as his eyes better adjusted to the dark.  “Missy, Missy, come here girl…Missy, where are you?” he called softly as his grip tightened on the carrier.  He undid the Velcro latch so he could just put her inside quickly once he found her.  “Missy…”

 _Mraow_.

Alex turned sharply at the sound, and felt a wave of relief when he saw that she was sitting on her favorite perch by the window, head resting in her paws.  “Hey Missy, are you cold?” he asked, smiling softly as he walked over to her.  She made soft _chirrup_ sounds as he scratched behind her ears, and began purring as he rubbed her temples.  “I know you’re going to hate me for this, but we’re going for a quick car ride, okay?  That means you’ve got to get into the carrier,” he said, running a gentle hand down the length of her spine.

_Rrrraow!_

Alex withdrew his hand seconds before Missy swiped at him, a growl reverberating in her throat as she settled back, watching him carefully.  Frowning, Alex leaned to the side, trying to study her in the dark, but only found that he couldn’t see anything but her light and dark fur.  Confusion growing, he turned around and flipped the switch for the main living room light before turning back again.

And recoiled at the sight.

At first glance, and in the dark, nothing appeared out of place.  In the light, however, Alex saw a large, dark red-brown smear across the coffee table surface, the lamp on the ground with a shattered base.  Alex felt a slight wave of nausea as he slowly turned his hand over, suddenly aware of the sticky blood that coated his palm.  Breathing for a few moments to calm himself down, he carefully approached Missy again, this time seeing the reddish-brown clinging to her fur on her lower back.  He’d mistaken the blood as her natural brown in the dark.  Releasing a slow breath, he said, “I’m sorry Missy, I didn’t see.  It’s okay, everything is going to be okay.  We’ll get you to a vet first thing.”  Gently scratching her ears again, he made soft nonsense sounds as he carefully grasped her middle, kneeling so that she could reach and cling to his parka.  He let her position herself as best as she could—he noted that she had more mobility in her front legs than her back—before using a hand to support her.  Somehow, he was able to remain calm as he studied the injury, which looked to be a single point concentrated her back, just above the base of the tail.  No shallow cuts, so it couldn’t have been from the lamp.  Actually, if he didn’t know better, Alex would have guessed the injury to be a-

Missy suddenly growled, the sound reverberating in her throat and chest as her muscles tensed in preparation to jump off of Alex’s shoulder.  He placed a hand on her middle to deter her from jumping, but otherwise did not move.  “Mr. Deeler, I presume?” he said finally. “Or would you rather prefer Reardon?”

“Either’s fine with me.”  Footsteps approaching, and then Missy tried to swipe at something but failed, if the growls were anything to go by.  Alex stiffened when he felt a hand brush against the back of his neck and rest on the opposite shoulder from Missy.  “I don’t think I need to tell you why I’m here or what I want,” Reardon said, voice intrusively close to Alex’s ear.

Alex took a steadying breath.  “You do know that Holton is dead, right?  No more help from him,” he said, wondering if he could somehow get to the window before Reardon killed him and alert 009 to the problem.

A soft laugh.  “Is he really?  I knew he wasn’t cut out for this job; he should have stayed behind a desk, where he belonged.  But no, the boss was so insistent that he do this when I finally found you that they switched jobs.”  Reardon’s hand inched towards Alex’s neck as former added, “Of course, it ended up working out because Holton is dead and Bond is on the other side of the world, chasing ghosts.  If the fuck-up with the ambassador’s children hadn’t happened, then Bond would have been less inclined to go.  But enough fucking around, put the cat down and get the memory stick.  Any funny business and I’ll just kill you faster and move on.”  His hand flexed dangerously over Alex’s pulse in warning before he let Alex go.

Wordlessly, Alex walked over to the couch, moving slowly as to not jostle Missy or startle Reardon into shooting.  Kneeling, he set Missy on the couch, tucking her up against the pillows.  She stretched her neck as though to follow, but Alex only leaned back down and gently bumped foreheads with her before getting up.  Reardon moved so that he remained out of sight, but Alex could still hear him.

“The memory stick is this way,” Alex said after a moment, nodding towards the bedroom.  He could feel Reardon slowly moving behind him as he walked toward his closet, where he knew a pile of dirty laundry had accumulated on the ground.  Fingers shaking, he reached for the closet door.  “I have to kneel to get it,” he said, hands resting on the handles.

There wasn’t a reply except for the telltale _click_ of the hammer.  Shifting nervously, he pushed the doors open all the way.  He grimaced when he heard Missy’s light mewls of distress from the other room, and then, when Reardon nudged the gun against the back of his head, Alex knelt on his left knee to better reach the pile of clothes in front of him.  He searched through the pile of clothes, fingers moving in the dark; the living room light was not bright enough to help with visibility in here.  He paused when he felt the edge of what he was looking for.  Swallowing, praying that his heart wasn’t as loud to Reardon as it was to him, he said, “I found it.”

The gun pressed harder against his skull as Reardon leaned forward and whispered, “Give it to me.”

Heart pounding, Alex leaned forward to get a better grip and best comply with Reardon’s order.

* * *

_No signal._

Tess grumbled to herself as she moved her mobile to another part of the car in search of a signal.  Her earpiece, a last minute addition as she walked out the door to collect Alex, had stopped working as soon as they arrived to the building.  She couldn’t say anything about that one though, because Alex was already angry over the betrayal and aggravating him further could be a permanent error. 

She couldn’t get out either; the car locked itself after a few moments, a Q-Branch safety feature.  Getting locked _out_ of the car would most likely give Winfield the wrong impression, and she couldn’t afford to wreck what little progress she’d made regaining his trust back.  She genuinely hated the half-truths between the two of them at the moment, but it wasn’t entirely her fault.  At the start of the mission, O’Reilly had bound her, James, and Alec with gag orders, keeping the agents silent about Winfield’s true role in MI6.  The entire point was to keep Winfield from panicking and turning against MI6; they didn’t know what his triggers were or how he would react.

Sighing, she tossed her mobile onto the dashboard, checking her watch and giving Winfield five minutes.  Hopefully, Q could figure out on his own that there was a mess back at RIE that needed cleaning; he’d been in touch with her the entire time she was at RIE as soon as the jammer was taken down, giving her the sights she needed such as the red lights on Winfield’s Walther, the positioning of Winfield’s body as he helped her, little perspectives she otherwise did not have.  Medical, meanwhile, was probably lying in wait until Winfield walked through the front doors and then they would pounce and not let him go until they were satisfied. Which could take hours, even days.

“…wonderful evening…”

“I enjoyed our evening too, although… it doesn’t have to end you know…”

Tess frowned when she heard Alec’s voice, and then straightened up in her seat when she spotted the other agent with an unfamiliar woman, his hand wrapped around her waist as he bent his head to listen to something she was saying.  Tess waited until they were in view of the car before flicking the emergency lights twice, just to catch Alec’s attention.  He’d recognize the car without a problem.

Tess watched as he said something before gently wrapping a hand around the back of the woman’s head, kissing her deeply before heading back to his car while she headed back in.  Tess waited until the woman was out of sight before climbing out herself, leaning against the car and flexing her knee to test the pain level as Alec approached.  “What’s wrong?” he asked, eyes glancing up at where she suspected Winfield’s flat was.

“Alex and I were attacked at RIE, I was going to take him home with me tonight since he found out you were MI6 and promptly panicked,” she said, leaning against the car.  “He knows now, about the three of us.  I told him we’d get him into witness protection, so we came here first to get his cat, the laptops, and the memory stick,” she said, pleased to find that the painkillers had finally started working.

“And you didn’t call for reinforcements at RIE _because_?” Alec snapped crossly, pulling out his mobile as Tess rolled her eyes.

“One, signal was dead and two, I had it under control as soon as the fight started because I could talk to Q,” she said patiently.  “The only problem was that I had to screw up my own knee to get closer to Holton, and now Winfield doesn’t trust me or James anymore.”

Alec frowned.  “Holton?  That’s one of the interns, right?” he asked, and Tess nodded in confirmation.  He sighed, and then said, “Better that he’s mistrustful than dead then.  You’ll find that James will agree with me on that one.”

Tess nodded in agreement, and then said, “Did you notice that there’s no sig-”

_BANG!_

The gunshot echoed in the car park shattering the still December night air.  Both agents flinched at the sound, Tess reaching for a gun that wasn’t there while Alec pulled his own out.  Then she blurted, “ _Alex!_ ”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Alec swore as he took off, silently grateful that Winfield or Tess had thought to park close to the building.  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tess moving toward the main entrance, and hoped that she knew to close off the flat entrance.  If Winfield or his attacker tried to escape, they would run into her first.  He had no idea who had the gun, or who could be attacking Winfield—no one except a select few knew about this mission—but he was glad at least that he’d spent the last six months familiarizing himself with the fire escape on the side of the building.  It ran by his flat, and then Winfield’s, so he’d used it frequently in the past to get into the other’s flat unnoticed.  The building had been selected because of the fire escape, for use as an alternate method of rescue if Alec or Heather couldn’t get through the front door.

He was only halfway up the fire escape, by the fourth floor windows, when a second gunshot rang out in the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forewarning: There will be a brief instance of animal cruelty in the next chapter.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Note:** One brief instance of animal cruelty, and then death, in this chapter.

_“Give it to me.”_

Heart pounding, Alex leaned forward to get a better grip to best comply with Reardon’s order.  Licking suddenly dry lips, Alex closed his eyes, well aware that he was as good as dead if his impromptu plan backfired on him.  Praying that luck was on his side, he readjusted his grip on the object, and then twisted his body as he used his bent right knee to propel himself forward.  With a grunt, he slammed the forgotten, melted hard drive straight into Reardon’s face with as much force as he could muster.

Reardon let out a wordless roar of pain as he reared back, the gun flying out of his hand and into the living room.  Alex scrambled to his feet, already searching frantically for the missing gun.  Reardon was faster, however, and Alex yelped as a hand clamped tightly around his ankle and sent him to the ground again in the doorway between the living room and the hall that led to the bedroom.

“I’m going to fucking kill you _slowly_ ,” Reardon growled, clawing at Alex’s leg as the latter tried to kick him off.  “Just for that, I’m going to kill you slowly.”

Alex grunted as he strained to continue crawling forward, noting with a pang of despair that the living room window was closed; no point in trying to call for help.  Cursing whomever decided to put in hardwood floors—it was difficult to get a good grip—he managed to wiggle his foot free of his shoe, slipping out of Reardon’s grip.  He immediately scrambled for the front door, still off-balance as he climbed to his feet.

“Don’t you _dare_!” Reardon spat as he lunged for Alex again.

Alex yelped and stepped out of the way in the nick of time, moving back as he belated remembered a vague warning to keep moving.  While he knew he’d had a chance at negotiations with Holton, Alex realized that Reardon was too focused on killing him to stop long enough for a conversation.  He turned around in time to see Reardon staggering to his feet, and then swallowed when he saw the extent of Reardon’s facial injuries.  Aside from the almost invisible outline from the hard drive, the assassin also had an incredible amount of both deep and shallow scratches on his face and neck.  Glittering eyes made contact with his, and Alex tripped when he felt a jolt of sheer terror in his limbs.  He still found himself backing away for the front door and was about to reach for the handle when his sock slipped on the floor.  He nearly fell, but Reardon still moved all the closer in the two seconds he looked away.  Alex swallowed his fear as he tried to remember something, _anything,_ that could save his life.

Reardon snarled before lunging for him again.  Panicking, Alex moved out of the way, keeping Reardon in sight as he backed up towards the window so that the couch was between the two of them.  Reardon, meanwhile, moved to stand between the hall and front door, ready to block the one escape route Alex chose.  Alex couldn’t use the window behind him, it was a straight drop to the ground, but there had to be another way out.  He glanced reflexively up at the ceiling, wondering if Trevelyan was home and if he would hear Alex if there was a loud enough commotion.

“Don’t even try, Trevelyan isn’t home.  I checked before coming here,” Reardon said, following his line of sight.  “Don’t want to unnecessarily disturb the neighbors though, right?”

“No, no, we don’t,” Alex said, getting an idea when he noticed Missy trying her damnedest to climb the back of the couch… and failing, since she kept sliding back down to the cushions, back legs scrabbling uselessly against the fabric.  He moved closer toward the front door, carefully angling himself to the hall threshold as Reardon inched forward, prepared to launch himself at the front door to stop Alex.

Alex feinted for the front door, and then instead ran for the couch, Missy yowling before moving out of the way as he jumped onto the couch and vaulted over the back, ready to run for the bedroom and escape that way.

A hand came out of nowhere as he came over the side, reaching quickly around his front and grabbing a fistful of parka.  Reardon pulled back so that Alex’s body involuntarily twisted to the side, landing with a solid _thud_ on his back.  Stars exploded in his vision when the back of his head slammed into the hardwood floor, and he could only manage a faint wheeze of pain before closing his eyes to try and bring his breathing back under control again.

He must have blacked out for a few seconds, because when he opened his eyes again, there were more lights on and he could see the cracks in the ceiling above him.  His jacket was lighter, and Alex surmised that Reardon had taken Holton’s gun from him.  The familiar weight of 009’s car keys, however, was still present in the other pocket, one of them digging painfully into Alex’s thigh.  Hearing Reardon’s light footsteps behind him in the kitchenette, he carefully controlled the speed of his breathing so he could slowly turn his head to the side and get a better sense of his surroundings.

Pain blossomed as soon as he moved, head throbbing from the point of contact.  He managed to stifle a groan of pain in time, wondering briefly if he’d just hit his head in the same place as he hit it back in Paris.  Breathing slowly through his nose in an attempt to lessen the pain, he blinked when he saw a familiar object lying underneath the couch.  Another Walther PPK, Alex could see the row of unlit lights on top of the worn handgrip.  Unlike Holton’s, this one showed wear and tear, which meant that Reardon didn’t either use it often enough to risk losing it or he kept careful track of his weapons.  The gun was also most likely an older model, but Alex was ready to bet his life that it had the handprint recognition technology that Holton’s had.

Carefully monitoring his breathing as best he could through the haze of pain, he slowly moved his arm across the floor, inching his hand underneath the couch and then straining for the gun.  He kept listening to Reardon’s footsteps and soft swears as he searched for the data.  Alex held his breath as his fingertips brushed the worn metal, and he strained to keep touching it, moving it infinitesimally in the hopes of turning the handgrip closer to where his hand was so he could get it.

Missy, somewhere above Alex, suddenly growled.  Cold fear shot through Alex’s limbs when Reardon lay down in front of the coffee table and his face appeared in the crack on the other side of the couch.  “Oh Winfield, you _shouldn’t_ have,” he cooed softly before reaching underneath and pulling the gun out.  “Thank you though, for finding it,” he added before his face disappeared as he stood up again.  “At least I can give you a clean, quick and painless death now, my skills with the knife are a little subpar, I’m afraid,” he said, walking around the couch and standing before Alex so that the two could see each other.  “It would have been one _hell_ of a mess for MI6 to find,” he said, feigning sadness as Alex gritted his teeth and turned his head to face forward again.  “It’ll be easier on Bond too, I suppose, to have something presentable to bury.”

Alex swallowed carefully as he considered his next words.  “Why… why did you kill Will?  He was your _friend_ , your teammate,” he whispered, wisps of semi-forgotten images crossing his mind as he recalled the easy banter between the two agents.

“He was a visionary, saw the good in the work we were doing.  I became disillusioned after Operation Skyfall,” Reardon replied nonchalantly as he checked the Walther over.  “The fact that Bond forgave you for murdering the MI6 director, our _boss_ , just sealed the deal.  Running into the Riddler a couple months later was good timing on his part.”

Something cold settled in Alex’s gut.  “I didn’t kill anyone,” he whispered even as Reardon moved a foot on his chest to keep him from moving.

“In the eyes of the law, maybe.  The nice thing though, about having a license to kill, is that one can operate _outside_ said law without repercussions,” Reardon replied, settling weight on the one leg.  “Then of course, less than a month after Skyfall, you nearly get Tess, Will, _and_ Bond all killed on separate missions all because you had no idea what the _fuck_ you were doing.  Well, Tess and Will were on the same mission, but details.  Annoying, really, how fast they forgave you and moved on.  Although in Bond’s case, I could see why he did that, seeing as the two of you were shagging each other senseless at that point,” Reardon remarked, checking the gun’s chamber before sliding it back into place.

 _Tess_. _Double-oh nine.  Outside_.  Alex wondered if it would be worth stalling long enough for 009 to realize that something was wrong, and then come to his rescue.  “You sound as though you still respect Bond, if you’re willing to give him something to bury,” he said carefully, deciding to try and stall as long as possible.

Reardon shrugged.  “He’ll be too blinded with grief and anger to see any clues in front of him.  Evidence: Vesper Lynd and Quantum.  Gives me time to escape or hide,” he said, switching the safety off.  He quietly regarded Alex for a moment, and then said, “For what it’s worth, he didn’t forget or move on from you in over six months, so you proved me wrong on that account.”

 _James_.  One of Alex’s last regrets, among having never completely reclaimed his memory, was never having talked to James with no lies or guards between the two of them.  He wanted to know why James didn’t come back sooner, why he came under a false identity, what exactly did they have between them before Paris?  He gave a thin smile, and then said, “For what it’s worth, your close-combat skills have gotten better since…since Paris.”  He wasn’t going to give Reardon the satisfaction of having hit a nerve with mentioning James.

Reardon studied him suspiciously.  “You could really fool someone, you know that?  I can’t tell if you’re bluffing or genuinely remembering things,” he said, leveling the barrel at the point between Alex’s eyes.  “Now I understand why Holton thought you were ready for snatching.  But look at where that’s gotten him.” He shrugged, pulling back the hammer.  “Enough, though.  Time is limited if Tess knows you’re here.”

Out of terror, Alex closed his eyes.

_Rrraow!_

Alex let out a silent cry as his eyes flew open in time to see Missy, sweet loyal Missy, leap from the back of the couch to Reardon’s outstretched arms, her semi-paralyzed back legs nearly costing her the jump.  Alex rolled away the second Reardon moved off of him in surprise, and moved to get out of the line of fire in case the gun went off when it landed near his feet.  He dove for the weapon as soon as he spotted it, and felt a wave of _relief_ when the three lights turned green in his hands.

Relief turned quickly to horror when he turned around in time to see Reardon grab a handful of Missy’s scruff and _hurl_ her across the room and out of sight.

_No._

Alex didn’t even realize what he was doing until his fist connected with Reardon’s jaw, flexing his fingers when Reardon landed with a _thud_ on his arse with a look of complete shock at Alex’s bold attack.  Snarling, the assassin moved back to his feet, reaching for another weapon on his person as he stepped forward.  Alex calmly raised the gun, but Reardon didn’t flinch, instead growling as his hand curled around a knife handle before he said, “Try and shoot me, it won’t-”

_Bang!_

“Work?” Alex finished in a detached tone, finger still holding the trigger down.  Resetting the Walther for another shot, he said, “You have two seconds to get the fuck out of my flat.  Now.”  Nodding to the bleeding gunshot wound on Reardon’s collarbone, he said, “That was for Will.  The next one will be fatal, and that one will be for Tess, James, and Missy.”

Reardon blinked in stunned silence.  “But they’re still alive,” he said as he clambered to his feet, backing away from Alex.

“But you hurt them, and I can’t have that,” Alex said, the words familiar on his tongue as he remembered staring down another enemy with a painfully familiar face.  A face he could picture, but could not name.

“Then why don’t you do it, Quartermaster?  Pull the trigger?  Even though you’ve been nothing but a dead weight to MI6, I’d actually be doing M a favor by getting rid of you, a _threat_ ,” Reardon hissed as he reached backwards for the doorknob.  “You know that he was planning to have you shot if you ever became a threat to MI6?”

“Well, lucky for him, I plan to have nothing to do with MI6 once I wash my hands of this matter,” Alex replied calmly, silently pushing back the anger, the hurt, and the overwhelming _guilt_ as he tried to reclaim the numbness that had protected him so far that night. “There is a double-oh agent in the car park, and she will be on her way up after having heard the gunshot,” he said quietly after a moment.  “I’m tired, and frankly, I want to be left alone.  Go.”

Something seemed to flicker in Reardon’s eyes, and Alex watched in silence as the other man left the flat without another word.

Alex lowered the Walther PPK, and, leaving the safety off, followed the faint whimpers to where Missy was lying still on the ground save for the rapid fluttering in her chest.  Alex studied the trail she’d left behind before moving to the armchair and sitting down next to her.  Leaning against the chair, he set the gun down on the cushion before gently scooping Missy up and cradling her against his body.  For a moment, he just sat there, unconsciously shivering from the cold as his long fingers felt along her legs and back, trying to ascertain the damage from touch alone.  She squirmed and whimpered when his fingers ghosted across her ribs, but otherwise did not seem to register his touch as he examined the bullet wound from earlier that night.  He tried to stand up, keeping her close, but she only gave a half-hearted yowl before he sat back down.

“I’m sorry I got you tangled in all of this,” he said finally, selfishly wishing that someone was there with him, he didn’t know if he could do this alone.  “I…I hope that your next life will be better than this one, that your owners will actually be there for you and not get mixed up with terrorists and secret intelligence agencies.  None of this is your fault, I should have realized I was in over my head, swallowed my fear, and just went to MI5 or MI6 with the evidence right from the start.”  Fingers rested on her chest and throat for a moment, and he felt the pulse moving at a dangerously erratic pace as a wheeze accompanied each breath.  He leaned forward and kissed her between her ears, whispering, “I’m so sorry, Missy.”  He kept repeating the apology in a soft voice as he reached for the nearby Walther, not needing to look as he pulled the hammer back.  Setting his jaw as to not lose control, he looked up and stared listlessly out the window ahead, flinching only at the loud sound in close proximity.  He felt unusually cold as he set the gun aside, the warmth cradled in his hands slowly fading as time ticked onward. 

Looking at the ceiling, he whispered, “Well James, something came up.  But I have no way of reaching you.  Hell, I don’t even think it’s fair to ask you for help at this point.”  Leaning back against the armchair, he stared out the window, mind blissfully blank for once.

He didn’t know how much time passed, could have been minutes, could have been hours.  Numbly, he stood up, grimacing at sore muscles before walking silently to the kitchenette, walking to where he’d last left the bundle of clothing from Redding’s office.  Puling out the torn jacket, he spread it out as best he could with one hand, and then gently laid Missy’s still form on it before methodically wrapping the jacket into a bundle of its own.  “At least you’re not in pain anymore,” he said quietly before turning to the sink to wash his hands clean of the blood and oil smudges.  Then he reached for the cabinet that had the tub of dry cat food.  Pulling the lid off the tub, he found the memory stick buried underneath the first layer of food, and was stuffing it into his pocket when he heard two faint _thuds_ in bedroom.

The window.  He’d forgotten about the fucking window.

Anger surging in his chest, he moved swiftly across the living room to snatch the Walther and fired three times into the bedroom.  “What more do you _want?_ ” he shouted, breathing hard as he lowered the gun.  “I told you I was _done_!  You’ve taken everything as it is, what more do you _want?_ ”  In a surge of fury, he fired once more at the first thing that moved, his hand shaking too much to risk another shot.

He thought he heard a muffled curse, but didn’t dare investigate.  In case it was a trap, he would be horribly outnumbered if Reardon brought reinforcements. 

Instead, he easily found the two laptops—one had been knocked off the table and onto the floor, the other was still hiding underneath a couch cushion—and stuffed both haphazardly into his messenger bag.  Sliding his shoe back on, he paused at the front door to glance around the flat once more, eyes lingering on the small bundle on the kitchen counter before he left the flat.

He started walking toward the lift, but stopped when he realized that he could hear the whirring mechanisms growing louder as the lift drew closer to his floor.  His hand twitched toward the gun, almost ready to shoot the person in a last ditch effort to slow him or her down.

But again, he had no idea of the numbers.

Well aware that he’d lost this round, Alex turned and began running to the stairwell on the other side of the hall, not wanting to leave his back exposed too long to the approaching threat.  His hand closed around the door handle, and he was pulling the door back when he heard the distinctive _click_ of a door opening.  Panicking, he whirled around, pointing the gun at the newest threat.

Heather Nelson froze, her hand reaching instinctively for a gun that wasn’t there.  Alex watched the gesture with detached interest before he said, “Don’t you dare follow me.”

Heather hesitated, and then cautiously took a step forward.  “Sir, I-” she began.

_Ding!_

Panic surged through Alex’s limbs at the distinctive chime of the lift’s arrival, and he fled, shoving the stairwell door open and taking the stairs two at a time.  Moving, not thinking, not feeling, he focused on putting one foot in front of the other, grasping the railing only when he nearly slipped somewhere near the third floor.  He finally stumbled out of the stairwell and into the empty lobby.  Wiping off the few tears sliding down his face, he somehow made it out the front doors and into the cold night air, feeling the sharp burn in his lungs as he inhaled deeply.  He turned to where he remembered 009 and the car to be, but then frowned when he saw that the 00 agent was gone.

_No time, no time, run now, grieve later._

Somehow, he managed to make his way to the car without falling; the cold air was helping to clear his head a little.  He scanned the car over once for any bugs, and after not finding any, he leaned forward and unlocked the driver’s side.  He slid into place, shutting the door as he began to scan what he could of the interior dash, praying that MI6 hadn’t bugged this car because he wanted to go _now_ and he couldn’t fucking think straight.  Blinking away the dull pain, he turned the engine on and slowly pulled out of the spot, silently apologizing to 009 for stealing her car as he drove toward the main street.

Safe.  He needed safety.  He needed somewhere safe to recover from tonight both mentally and physically.

It took him a little while to realize that he was driving north.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah...
> 
> Please do not interpret this chapter as my attitude toward cats in general. I love cats, I have three of my own, and I love them all very much. This chapter was hard to write, I kept dancing around the actual scene for hours until I finally had to grit my teeth and write it. And then type it up. And then edit it. I almost backed out at one point, but found that the way the story flowed, it would have been an obvious change and affected the chapter's outcome and the subsequent story. My thinking here had been that he would not have wanted her to suffer and die painfully and slowly.
> 
> There is a short ficlet that on my tumblr (http://mistflyer1102.tumblr.com/post/66186110656/family) that I hope may help you recover from this chapter if necessary.
> 
> We will be rejoining Bond next chapter, and then there will be copious amounts of 00Q fluff after.


	18. Chapter 18

Something felt wrong.

Bond slowly exhaled, taking another sip of champagne as he deliberately kept his back to the milling crowd below.  Leaning against the balcony railing overlooking the extravagant hotel lobby, he studied the conversing attendees in front of him on the second floor.  This particular soirée, as Bond learned after arriving to Sydney only two hours before, was actually a meet-and-greet for the weapons exposition sellers and buyers before the actual sales began.  002 was lurking around somewhere downstairs, using his personal tricks to gather the information necessary for his mission.

Bond, meanwhile, couldn't shake the feeling of uncertainty; it seeped through his skin and settled in his bones.  Instincts honed to perfection over the years told him that it had less to do with the current mission and more to do with leaving Winfield in London this time.  Considering he hadn’t heard from Winfield, or any of his ‘guards’, in the last twenty-four hours, he knew that anything could have happened.  The last text had been from Winfield, asking about where Bond worked…an innocent enough question.

_But he’s safe.  Tess and Alec are watching him.  No one can get to him._

_He’s safe._

_Safe._

Breathing in slowly through his nose, Bond glanced around, searching for any of the three faces he’d memorized on the flight over.  Due to the Riddler’s nature as a private man, Bond anticipated running into either of the two associates—Amatore and Kaminski—first before meeting the man himself.  Between the two associates, Bond knew he had a higher chance of survival with the former, since the latter would undoubtedly remember him from Moscow, and then expect a second 00 agent, namely 006.  While the Kaminski’s assumption would be incorrect, it still chipped away at 002’s element of surprise. 

He looked up when he caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye, muscles tensing, but he relaxed infinitesimally when he looked up and recognized a rather harried looking Rat meeting with Lynn at the top of the staircase. The dealer, interestingly enough, was also the only person in the vicinity _not_ in formal dress, choosing instead to opt for his casual jeans and jacket.  Bond gave a faint nod of acknowledgement when the two men made eye contact before he went back to his champagne glass and surveying the crowd before him.

It took Rat five minutes to make up his mind and wander over to where Bond stood.  “Whishaw, right?  Daniel Whishaw, Emmy’s coworker?” Rat said, leaning on the railing next to Bond, not making eye contact.

“Do you go by ‘Rat’ or ‘Thomas Williams’ at these events?” Bond asked, not turning to acknowledge the other man.

“Rat, unless I’m conducting business, in which case it’s a toss-up depending on the client.  But it’s ‘Rat’ right now, I spotted some CIA goons near the buffet table downstairs and I’m starving,” Rat said mournfully as he deflated slightly.  Shaking his head in dismay, he said, “You’re here to talk to the Riddler, aren’t you?”

“Yes.  Where can I find him?” Bond replied before sipping the champagne again.

Rat shrugged.  “His hotel rooms?  I honestly don’t know, I haven’t seen him or the woman yet, I’ve been trailing the Russian merc for a few hours now for lack of something better to do until I’m summoned,” he whispered back, fingers drumming anxiously on the railing.  “All I can tell you is that the Riddler’s British lieutenant stayed in London though, something about the amnesiac MI6 tech was making the cronies twitchy,” he added, shifting slightly as he leaned forward to examine something downstairs.  He was quiet for a few moments before he suddenly straightened, piquing Bond’s curiosity.  “Oh, and here’s the biggest hypocrite on this side of the Western Hemisphere.  Well, barring some exceptions, anyway,” he said, tilting his head in curiosity. 

Stamping down his concern and his paranoia for Alex’s safety, Bond turned and raised an eyebrow when he recognized Rolan Kaminski downstairs, moving steadily through the crowd as though he were a shark in calm waters.  Bond felt quiet alarm when he realized that both of the ambassador’s missing children were with the dark-haired Russian mercenary, little hands engulfed in his own.  A quick glance over of the children assured Bond that at least they _appeared_ healthy and well cared for; their skin remained unmarked and they weren’t shying away from the surrounding strangers or Kaminski.  If anything, the children pressed _closer_ to Kaminski when the surrounding people became too much for them.  “Who is he?  The man leading the kids?” Bond asked, feigning ignorance in hopes of coaxing more ‘free’ intel from Rat.

Rat made a gagging sound before flipping off an oblivious Kaminski.  “Rolan Kaminski, gun for hire, contract killer, whatever you want him to be,” he said, leaning forward on the railing again to get a better look.  “Babysitter today, apparently.  Oh, how the mighty have fallen…”

“Rat…”

“Right.  Anyway, he worked for the KGB in the last years of the Cold War, retired a few years later, and then married.  He ran afoul of Quantum in ’95.  Broke free when Quantum reneged their end of the deal,” Rat said, making a face as the two men watched Kaminski bend down to listen to the ambassador’s son.  “He’s been a drifter since ’04, he and I worked together for seven years until Silva hired him for a series of hits.  Last hit was _supposed_ to be in Shanghai, back in November 2012, sniping someone who had displeased Silva, but Kaminski got distracted at the last moment and Patrice, who was lying low after riling up MI6, stepped up.”

Bond made a non-committal sound of agreement, well aware that Shanghai could have ended differently if Kaminski had been there.  “You seem to know him quite well,” he remarked off-handedly, glancing at Rat, who shrugged with one shoulder.

“Well, he _was_ the closest thing I had to a friend while out in the cold.  The loneliness does get to you after a while,” Rat finally admitted, nervously scratching the back of his neck.  “I thought we’d get back to working together, but then Silva’s successor hired him out again.  We haven’t really talked since then,” he said, straightening up.  “Not that I really want to anymore.  Like I said, nasty business with Quantum.” Shaking his head, he said, “Just steer clear of him, I’ve noticed that Russians get a little temperamental when they think you’re encroaching on their territory.”

“Don’t need to warn me twice,” Bond muttered before he turned and asked, “What about-”

“Mr. Williams?”

The two men turned, Bond reflexively reaching for his hidden gun but paused at the young man—most likely an escort—standing there, trying not to fidget.  “Can we help you?” he asked, raising an eyebrow but keeping his voice soft.

“Yes, I am looking for Mr. Williams.  He has an appointment with my employer,” the escort said, brazenly making eye contact with Bond before turning to Rat.  “Now, would be preferable, sir.  He’s even invited you to dinner.”

Rat swallowed before he said, “He wants to know about the external hard drive, doesn’t he?”

The escort nodded.

Rat turned an interesting shade of green as he nodded absently.  Then he cleared his throat.  “Right, um, where is he?” he asked, glancing around at the nearby people.

The escort gestured for Rat to follow him.  “Come with me.  Your associates and friend can wait here,” he said, nodding pointedly at Bond and Lynn.

“A-Actually, Whishaw helped me out of a tight spot with the hard drive, so, um, can he come?  It’s important that the Riddler hears what he has to say,” Rat said quickly, reaching out and grabbing Bond’s upper arm.  It took all of Bond’s instincts to not reactively snap Rat’s wrist.

The escort hesitated.  “You are aware of the Riddler’s policy regarding visitors, right?” he said after a moment, taking a wary step back.

Rat’s fingers dug painfully into Bond’s upper arm.  “He’s with me,” he repeated, the anxiety audible in his voice.

The escort glanced warily at Bond before he asked, “What is your name, sir?”

“Daniel Whishaw,” Bond replied, Rat’s grip tightening briefly on his arm.

For a moment, it looked as though the escort was going to refuse him anyway.  Then the other man shook his head and said, “This way, please,” as he gestured for them to follow him.  He began walking to the hall just beyond the main staircase, Bond and Rat behind him.  Rat released his arm, but remained close as the two men followed the escort.  Bond could just _feel_ the anxiety rolling off the other man, tried to shrug it off, but it was difficult given his own buried anxiety about Winfield. 

To keep himself calm, he scanned each knot of people they passed as they entered what looked like an intimate dining room that had several small tables.  Each table had a small candle in the center, and the entire room was bathed in dim light and decorated with shadows.  The few diners were speaking in low tones with each other, studiously ignoring the table closest to them.  It took Bond a second to spot the one table with a solitary patron in the circular booth in the back corner, face lit with the blue glow of a phone screen.  The man set the phone down when the escort paused by the table and gestured for Rat and Bond to sit down in the two chairs at the table.  Schooling his features into that of indifference, Bond sat down across from the man who had made his life hell and now threatened all that he had left.

The other man leaned back in his seat, carefully studying Bond.  The Riddler appeared older than his photographs made him out to be; up close, Bond could see streaks of gray in the other’s dark hair and there were prominent lines on his face.  The two men kept blank expressions as they studied each other before the Riddler offered a thin smile and straightened up in his chair as he began to speak. “Good evening, Mr…?” he said, waiting for Bond to finish.

“Whishaw.  Daniel Whishaw,” Bond said, keeping his hands firmly in his lap.  He tilted his head, and then said, “It is an honor to meet you, Rat holds you in high regard.”

The Riddler’s smile twitched.  “Indeed.  Usually he does when he’s trying to sell someone out,” he said, scowling briefly at the American, who slouched guiltily in his seat for a moment.  “But I have to admit, I’m intrigued as to how you became involved with my external hard drive problem,” he said, turning back to Bond.  “Especially since _no one_ was supposed to know about it.”

“He was looking for a technician.  I provided one,” Bond replied evenly as a waitress appeared with drinks for everyone. 

The Riddler nodded absently as the waitress placed his glass down in front of him.  “Then tell me, Mr. Whishaw, what brings you out here all the way to Sydney?” he asked, sipping the champagne.

“Business.  I happened to run into Rat here, and was just updating him on the hard drive’s progress when your minion showed up and brought him back here,” Bond replied smoothly, before taking a sip of his own champagne.  He was careful not to look at Rat as he spoke.

“Oh?  And what is the current status of my tech?” the Riddler asked, looking interested for the first time that evening.  He straightened in his seat and set his glass down, saying, “Please tell me that you can retrieve the data.”

“I have two people working on it,” Bond said.  “They’re doing their best, but the data was badly corrupted so a simple retrieval is not a possibility,” he explained, careful to sound apologetic as he leaned back in his seat. 

To his surprise, the Riddler leaned back in his seat again, relaxed once more.  “It’s good to know that the data can still be retrieved, you must have highly-trained programmers,” he said, smirking before he sipped his drink again.  “I tried to have my son work on it as soon as we were able to retrieve it from the destroyed bunker in Paris, but he was… useless, to say the least.”

“Yeah… I ran into your son last week in London, we had drinks together.  He’s still pissed off about you exiling him there,” Rat piped up, taking a large swallow of the champagne.  Coughing, he used a napkin to wipe his face before he added, “Said he still thinks that the whole mess with the ambassador’s children is the best thing ever to happen to him.”

The Riddler waved a dismissive hand as he took another sip of his drink.  “Intern-level work will be good for him in the long run, he could always use a refresher anyway.  Learn from the expert.  Besides, he’s in almost constant contact with Winfield, so it’s not as though as he’s being idle,” he said snidely as a shadow fell over the table for the briefest of moments before Rolan Kaminski slid silently into the booth near the Riddler.  “I take it that the children have been put to bed?” he said to Kaminski, who nodded.

Bond remained absolutely still, tensed and prepared to run if Kaminski chose to fight.  For a few moments, the two stared at each other, and Bond could see the lines of tension in the other man’s neck.  Then Russian mercenary merely reached for his own glass, ignoring the 00 agent completely. Then, to cover his own slip, Bond turned to the Riddler and asked, “Expecting trouble?”

“The CIA is downstairs, I wouldn’t be surprised if the British came toddling along behind if they’re not already here,” the Riddler said calmly, making eye contact with Bond.  “My mole within MI6, Lieutenant Deeler, tells me that last week, double-oh seven returned to London after trying to hunt me down in Chicago.  I anticipate meeting him soon, Kaminski promised to identify him for me,” he added, raising his glass in Bond’s direction.

Bond raised his glass in return, his eyes briefly meeting Kaminski’s.  “I wish you luck, then.  Many have tried to kill him, but none have succeeded,” he said mildly before sipping his drink.

“There’s always a first for everything,” the Riddler countered calmly. “It would simply be a matter of breaking him first, and it all works out since Winfield has to die anyway.  What better way to break the agent’s resolve than to make him watch his lover die slowly and painfully in front of him?  Knife wounds to the stomach, I hear, are pretty messy, but slow,” he added, never once breaking eye contact with Bond.

Quiet alarm and anger flared in Bond’s mind, but he sought to refocus on the main in front him.  When he trusted himself to speak again, he said in a steady voice, “You would think that double-oh seven is used to watching his lovers die. What is one more to him?”

The Riddler shrugged.  “Winfield is the _only_ partner that double-oh seven has stayed with for longer than a month.  Granted, the agent left MI6 for the Vesper Lynd woman, but he’s been with Winfield for three years.  There’s something to be said about that sort of dedication from a man living on borrowed time,” he said calmly.  Shrugging with one shoulder before Bond could speak, he added, “But if the agent does not care as much as you say he doesn’t, then I’ll tell Deeler to be quick about murdering Winfield once we’re done with him, no need to waste time.”

 _Steady._ Bond forced himself to take another sip from the champagne glass, anything to take his mind off murdering the man in front of him.  Bringing Vesper and Winfield both into the discussion struck a nerve better left untouched; both were elements of his private life, and to use them as a means of taunting him…  He mentally shook himself; Alec and Tess were watching Winfield, and they would have Deeler’s name and information once Bond transmitted the data back to HQ.  Then, once the Riddler was in custody, MI6 would have the rest of the names and Winfield would continue to live in blissful ignorance of the machinations around him.

Rat awkwardly cleared his throat, drawing everyone’s attention to him.  “So, um, while the three of you wait for double-oh seven to show up, I’m gonna leave, maybe fly back to Lon-” he began, starting to stand up.

“You will be doing _nothing_ of the sort, we haven’t finished talking yet,” the Riddler snapped, earning a pained whine from Rat.  He took a steadying breath as Rat reluctantly sat back down again, and then said, “Allow me to get this straight.  Whishaw, you still have my hard drive?”

“Correct.  I can give it back to Rat once I’m done with it,” Bond replied.

“And I can hand it off to your son,” Rat said, glancing wistfully at the nearest dining salon exit.

The Riddler glanced at Kaminski.  “Speaking of which, has Deeler or my son reported in yet?  We were supposed to talk yesterday…”

“Nothing yet, sir.  It could be that something came up,” Kaminski replied, his voice soft and nearly inaudible to Bond’s ears. 

“Excuse me, sir?”

Bond flinched, and then turned to find 002 standing there, face blank of any expression as he kept his hands at his sides and head bowed slightly.  Then Bond asked, “What is it?”

“There’s a call for you, at the front desk.  It’s from our London contact about a shift in plans for all of the early deadlines in the new year, and they would like your approval before implementing the changes,” 002 said, glancing briefly at Kaminski and the Riddler.  “I do apologize for the interruption, sir,” he added after a moment.

Bond nodded before turning back to the Riddler.  “I’m afraid that I have to take this one.  Thank you for the company and drinks, we must speak again before the exposition’s end, Mr. Reed,” he said, deliberately using the criminal mastermind’s real name.

The Riddler merely smirked.  “Likewise, Commander Bond.  I look forward to our next conversation,” he said pleasantly as Bond stood up.

Bond merely offered a curt nod of acknowledgement before turning and walking away, 002 staying in step just behind him.

The other agent waited until they were outside the dining room before dropping character.  “Was that the Riddler?” he asked as they approached the stairs.

“Yes. We know who the other person is,” Bond replied before dragging 002 by the arm to the side.  “What happened?” he demanded quietly.

“Thought you would be interested to know that I’ve been doing a little poking around and working with Q to follow Riddler’s money trails around the world,” 002 replied, ignoring Bond’s irritated scowl.  Pressing on before Bond could interrupt, he added, “In addition to Amatore, the kids, and Kaminski, the Riddler came to Sydney with three bodyguards and a governess.  That was five days ago.  Governess quietly disappeared during the UNICEF event, the same one that MI6 used to get the photographs of Amatore and the Riddler.  Coincidentally, an unidentified female body washed up onshore this morning in the harbor.”

“He’s cutting his losses,” Bond said, angling his back so that it was harder for anyone to watch them and lip-read the conversation.  “How many tickets does he have for departure?” he asked quietly, trying not to look in the Riddler’s general direction.

“Two for a scheduled departure in four days.”

 _That’s before the exposition even ends._   “He won’t stick around that long, he knows we’re here and that we’re hunting him,” Bond said, shaking his head as he tried to calculate the odds of either Amatore or Kaminski being selected for that second ticket.  The other was undoubtedly going to receive a bullet to the head.  “The children will have to be rescued tonight.  What better place to dump the bodies of two high-profiled individuals than a city on the other side of the world from their home?” he said, glancing at 002, who frowned.

“Who is the Riddler trying to get at then?  High-profile murders are spectacles; usually the killer _wants_ the attention.  Especially from the parents of the victim,” he said, frowning slightly as he saw something over Bond’s shoulder.  “Why would he put everything on the line, including his personal safety, just to murder two kids that he _accidentally_ picked up?” he whispered, turning back to face Bond.

Bond was quiet for a moment, thinking.  The Riddler definitely saw that his actions were well worth the risk since he played the charade for this long, which meant the stakes were higher than Bond initially guessed.  Then it clicked. “Because it’s not the parents’ attention that he wants, it’s ours.  And he certainly has it, and now he knows it,” Bond said, grinning slightly.  “Think about it.  The children die, we lose our licenses in the ensuing investigation, and he’s free to do whatever the hell he wants since the rest of the double-oh agents are tied up in some way or another.”  Bond didn’t think that the Riddler would go for Winfield though; without his license, Bond would no longer be at M’s beck and call, and would be able to keep a better eye on his healing partner.

002 was silent for a moment.  Then he breathed out a curse.  “Fuck, that’s unfair.  I can’t believe we walked into his fucking trap like that…” he began, curling his fingers into his hair.  “Stupid, stupid, stu-”

“So in other words, just another day on the job.  Good, I was worried that there was a surprise in there somewhere,” Bond said, stepping away from 002, already considering their next step.  He paused, and then said, “You still have a ways to go if you think traps are alarming now.”

“You know, I had twelve different people warn me about working with you,” 002 grumbled as he followed Bond towards the staircase.  “‘Self-destructive tendencies’ was among the most often-repeated phrases.  I see where they were coming from now,” he added as the two of them walked down the stairs toward the main floor.

“How many of those people were from Psych and Medical?”

“Okay, _four_ people then.  The point still stands.”  002 huffed impatiently behind Bond, and then asked, “I’m assuming you have a plan?”

“What do you think?” Bond said reflexively, even though a plan was already coming to mind even as he spoke.

“Touché.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the unplanned hiatus, Real Life happened.


	19. Chapter 19

An hour later, and it was time to make his move.

The pleasant buzz of low conversations washed over Bond as he calmly walked into the semi-crowded salon adjoining the main dining room, where he’d earlier encountered the Riddler.  Many guests had dispersed at this point, either to retire for the evening or begin preliminary deals before the exposition started in the morning. Not that Bond cared at the moment; he was merely there to allow the Riddler’s bodyguards, if they were there, a visual so the Riddler would lower his hackles long enough for 002 to slip under his guard and begin the next phase.

A quick scan of the room told him little about the other patrons, and only one or two looked up when he walked inside. He could hear a couple bickering in Spanish as he passed their table, two men in dove-gray uniforms were enjoying off-duty drinks near the entrance, a poker player was carefully fleecing his three competitors, and a woman in a backless red gown sat alone with her back to the door. Off to the side was the bar area itself, with a few more patrons seated at the counter as two men worked in front of them.  Aware that dimmed lighting meant more shadows for potential threats to hide in, Bond approached the counter and sat down at the curve to keep a better eye on the only door.  He signaled the barman and sat back in his chair as the other man set the clean glass aside and picked up another one before coming over.

“Would you like something to drink, sir?” the barman asked, wiping down the glass as Bond mentally assessed him.

“Vodka martini, shaken not stirred,” Bond replied, reaching into a jacket pocket for his mobile to contact 002 in preparation for the next step.  As the barman walked away, Bond pulled out his phone, but stopped when he saw that the phone did not have a signal.  Instead, he had a prompt suggesting that he power the phone down in order to save the battery.  Raising an eyebrow, he still raised the device up to his ear, as though receiving a call.  He soundlessly moved his mouth, casting a discreet glance at numerous patrons from where he was sitting.

One of the two men by the front door abruptly shifted in his seat, catching Bond’s attention.  Both men looked bemused, and the fidgeting man even looked confused as the other reached and touched his ear for a moment.  Bond watched with a growing sense of satisfaction as the man with the earpiece abruptly stood up, gesturing for his partner to remain seated before he stepped out of the salon, still listening to the spoken instructions on the other end.

Bond, despite the still-present danger, found himself relaxing a bit as he slipped his phone away back into his pocket after turning it off.

Sipping his drink, Bond cast a glance down the counter to examine the other individuals.  There was a couple examining something on an iPad between the two of them while they argued quietly in Finnish, and a shorthaired brunette wearing a black dress two seats down from them.  The mix of softly spoken languages around him created an otherwise comforting atmosphere, taking his mind momentarily off the two men near the front door and the angered American criminal he was hunting.  It didn’t escape him, however, that something was missing, and that there was something he _wasn’t_ hearing.  Q, he knew, wouldn’t step in unless the two agents were about to die, but technically, he was still in an open link with 002, in case the other stumbled into trouble and needed emergency backup.

_So why can’t I hear him now?_

Even as the thought crossed his mind, Bond ran a mental checklist of his person; he was armed with both gun and knife, his phone was dead, he had one, not two, possible threats behind his back, the Riddler knew he was there with at least one ‘friend’, Kaminski, most likely, suspected his ‘friend to be another 00 agent, and Amatore still remained unaccounted for.  With three bodyguards, Bond knew that he and 002 stood a fair chance of winning, even with the disadvantage of numbers against them.  Three bodyguards against two highly trained assassins were odds that Bond had faced before.  The only trick was that the two agents had to coordinate better; a simple miscommunication could kill one if not both of them.

And Bond had every intention of returning home alive.

‘Accidentally’ knocking over his half-full martini glass was relatively simple.  A raised hand for the barman’s attention, a clipped sleeve, and the drink promptly fell over and alcohol splashed across the counter.  The Finnish couple yelped indignantly and the brunette started slightly, but returned to her drink.  The Finnish husband, though, turned to Bond with a raised fist and red face. 

“Clumsy idiot!  Watch it next time!” he barked in rough accented English.

“I’m sorry, I was trying to get the barman’s attention, not yours,” Bond said, calmly raising his hands as though in surrender.  The other man snarled and raised a fist as though to punch Bond anyway, but the barman instinctively turned and swiftly stepped in, placing a hand on Bond’s chest and the other man’s chest.  The waiter, Bond noticed out of the corner of his eye, had started to reach for a hidden object under his jacket, but stopped when he realized that the barman had the situation under control.

“No arguing here.  Take it outside if you must, but no arguing at _my_ bar,” the barman growled, looking between the two combatants.  He turned Bond and said, “What can I do for you, sir?”

“More napkins, for the mess,” Bond said, looking pointedly down at the mess in front of him.

“Please give me a moment then, let me finish assisting another customer,” the barman replied before turning back around to talk to the waiter, who had drifted closer to the counter with his tray.

“Apologies,” Bond said, nodding once toward the still irritated Finnish man, who flipped him off while the woman wiped up the mess closest to them.  Bond deftly pulled his earpiece out as he lowered his hands, careful not to make any obvious movements. He turned the device over in his hands, keeping it tucked against his palm as he reached out to straighten the empty martini glass.  He lowered his hand underneath the table and opened his palm enough to note the red light blinking on the side of the earpiece; the circuitry was either fried or jammed, it was hard to tell without further analysis.  He’d have to work blind and deaf, something he was used to doing anyway. 

“Here you go, sir, another vodka martini, shaken not stirred,” the barman said, setting the glass down before setting down a pile of napkins.  “Let me know if you need more, sir.”

Bond nodded in acknowledgement, not bothering to answer as he took a healthy gulp of the martini and then set it aside to take care of the mess in front of him.  Picking up the napkins, he began to separate them in order to better wipe up the spill.  He paused when he felt a slightly thicker object amongst the flimsy material, and his brow furrowed as he located the offending object and pulled it out to examine it better…only to have his blood run cold a second later.

It was an image reproduction of the _Fighting Temeraire_ , a postcard as he discovered when he turned it around after feeling the imprints from a pen on the other side.  Noting the rust-colored stain in the corner, he studied the short message written in block print in black: _What do you really see?_

That first meeting at the National Gallery.

_Alex._

Bond took several deep breaths through his nose, reminding himself that the postcard wasn’t necessarily a threat, and could be interpreted as a warning.  He closed his eyes, seeking a calming memory and settling on the one of the first time Alex had ever given him a genuine smile, almost three months after Skyfall.  It had been a small smile of gratitude, but also the hardest one for Bond to forget.  Even though the circumstances had been less than favorable and Alex had been near the end of his patience, Bond still managed to calm him down by reaching under the table and clasping his fingers to keep the quartermaster grounded even as the committee’s accusations grew sharper with every passing word.

Imagining those cool and slim fingers intertwined with his own, Bond took a few deep breaths before opening his eyes again, easily locating the barman finishing up another customer’s order.  He warily eyed the drink as he signaled the oblivious barman over, and maintained a disinterested façade as the man returned.  “Yes, sir, how may I-”

Bond’s hand shot out and seized the man’s sleeve, bringing his arm down to the counter and pinning it there.  “Who gave you the napkins and the drink?” he asked quietly and patiently, his grip tightening when the barman narrowed his eyes instead of immediately replying.

The barman hesitated, and then said, “The lady in the red gown, she’d apparently been waiting to buy you a drink since you arrived, but you were taking your time with the first one,” he replied just as quietly. He raised an eyebrow and said, “If I recall correctly, _you_ knocked over the first one, so don’t blame me for anything.”

“I wasn’t accusing you of anything,” Bond said before turning in his seat in time to see the red gown disappear around the corner of the doorframe.  “Excuse me.”

Leaving the barman behind, Bond got up and left the salon, glancing to the left while brushing a hand where he had hidden the Walther to ensure that it was still there.  He caught sight of the woman gracefully walking up the staircase that led to the second floor, and then began to follow, careful to stay just out of her line of sight.  They crossed the balcony to another set of stairs, where he watched her climb to the third floor, pausing long enough to speak quietly with a man in a familiar gray uniform for a few minutes before walking past him.  Bond waited to see if the man would leave as well, but his reluctance to lose the woman won over and Bond calmly walked up the stairs and approached the man.  He didn’t bother to slow down even as the man spotted him, and then moved to block him.

“Can I help you, sir?” he asked, innocently meeting Bond’s gaze.

“No. Excuse me,” Bond said before attempting to step around the man.

He stopped when he felt a knife tip press against his side, and realized that the man worked with the two from downstairs.  If their reactions at Bond’s use of his mobile were anything to go by, then the gray uniforms denoted those in the Riddler’s service.  Scowling softly, Bond carefully regarded the man, sizing him up before casually asking, “Master’s keeping you on a short leash, then?”

The bodyguard bristled as he nudged Bond back towards the stairs.  “At least he lets me kill people, although he wants you alive,” he said, digging the knifepoint in a little more.  Leaning close, he whispered, “At least he didn’t say you had to be _unharmed_.”

Bond reacted before he did.

Clasping the man’s wrist with his left hand, he twisted the man’s wrist sharply, ignoring the sharp _crack_ as the knife clattered away when it landed on the floor.  As the man cried out, Bond calmly turned back, dragging the man forward and towards the stairs.  Releasing him, Bond finished with a right punch to the back, pitching the man forward down the stairs. Bond ignored the _thump_ and subsequent groans as he knelt long enough to grab the knife.  Pushing the door open, he climbed one more set of stairs to the fourth level.

_One down, two to go._

The main, dimly lit corridor in which she had disappeared stretched for quite a ways.  The thick, spade-patterned carpet blanketed the sounds of Bond’s shoes, and he could see the six intersecting halls that were evenly spaced out down the corridor to the windows at the end.  He paused at each intersection in the event of an ambush, but heard and saw nothing and no one.  He knew that he would be just as invisible to anyone else, since he’d opted for the dark navy suit for the evening.  Bond only pulled the Walther out as he approached the last intersection, the faint _whirr_ of the approaching lift audible in the otherwise heavy silence of the hall.  Taking a steady breath, Bond stepped out and aimed the Walther at the woman’s exposed back, careful to step forward so that no one could sneak up on him in the main corridor. 

“How did you know about the _Temeraire_?” he asked quietly, keeping the gun aimed between her shoulder blades.

A soft laugh.  “I do my homework, Mr. Bond,” she said as the lift doors opened.  Stepping into the lift, she added, “I am aware of everything, especially the blood on your hands.” Turning around, she smiled when Bond’s breath caught at the horribly familiar face, one he thought to be long dead.  “Are you really so _keen_ to add poor Alexander Winfield to the list of your dead?” Vesper whispered, red lips curling into a smirk as Bond took a few hesitant steps back.  “What did he ever do to deserve such a fate?” she asked softly, eyes narrowing slightly as Bond’s steps faltered, as though he’d received a punch to the gut.

For a moment, Bond was back in Venice, holding Vesper’s lifeless, wet body.  Slowly lowering the Walther, he tried to regain his breathing and stop his heart from pounding by reminding himself that he was in Sydney, almost nine years after Vesper’s death.  He took a few more steps back, shaking his head slowly.  “You’re… _she’s_ dead,” he snapped, fighting back the numbness as M’s words— _How many is that now?—_ came back to mind.

A sad smile.  “As Winfield will be, in time,” she replied softly as Bond heard the sickeningly familiar _click_ of a hammer being pulled back. “See you in hell, James,” she said right as Bond dropped to the ground, the gunshot echoing in the hall and the bullet clipping the corner of the wall in a shower of splinters.

Sound rushed back at that moment, as Bond turned to find the earpiece-wearing man from earlier in the salon.  He rolled to the side right as the man fired again, brow furrowed in concentration.  Bond barely dodged a bullet as he stupidly allowed himself to back into the side of the wall, but then he belatedly remembered his own Walther.  Moving too quickly for the other man, he lunged for his own gun, curling himself into a roll to land in a crouch.

Swearing, the other man began to retreat, the gray of his uniform helping him blend into the dim environment.  Bond was already moving, firing twice and clipping the man on the knee, causing him to stumble.  Putting the Walther away to save the ammunition, Bond pulled out the knife he’d stolen earlier and _charged_ towards the other man, twisting at the last moment to avoid a panicked smattering of gunfire. 

Then Bond flattened himself against the wall, watching as the man looked around wildly before tapping his earpiece, the gun hanging loosely in the other hand.  Bond smirked to himself when he saw the red light on the earpiece; whatever affected his equipment had affected the other man’s as well, and there was no way to call for reinforcements.  Bond pulled the Walther out, fired at the nearest light, and plunged their section of hall into darkness as the man turned and opened fire behind him, missing Bond by centimeters.  Bond remained absolutely still despite the wood fragments he could feel hitting his sleeve.

Then the man looked back at the shattered light, giving Bond the opportunity to step forward and wrap his hands around the man’s throat.

The result was immediate.

The guard panicked, thrashing around and trying to throw Bond off by moving erratically before he slammed his back—and Bond—into the wall behind him.  Bond tightened his grip on the man’s throat, feeling the jugular before digging his fingers in deeper.  The man gasped for breath, a sound that turned into a wheeze as Bond finally managed to brace himself on the floor and _shove_ the man against the opposite wall, pinning him there as he maintained a tight grip.  He kept it so that the man could breathe, but barely.

Taking a moment to catch his breath, Bond leaned forward and whispered, “Nod if you can hear me.”

There was a second’s hesitation, and then the man slowly nodded.

“Good.  If you lie to me, I’ll kill you right away.  If you don’t, and answer my questions in a timely manner, I’ll give you the opportunity to walk away,” Bond whispered, using his weight to pin the man to the wall.  “Nod once if you understand, twice if you don’t.”

The man nodded once, still wheezing as he tried to catch his breath.

“Do you know where the Riddler is?” Bond asked quietly, glancing in both directions of the hall in case someone else was about to approach them.  No one had stepped out of his or her rooms during the fight, but he didn’t lower his guard quite yet.

The man shook his head.

 _Odd_.  “Do you know where the British ambassador’s children are?  They would have been in Kaminski’s care,” Bond said quietly, wrapping one hand around the back of the man’s neck to keep it against the wall so he could reach for a knife within his suit jacket and place it against the man’s neck.

The man hesitated for a second, and then nodded once.

“Tell me.”

The man coughed once, but Bond eased pressure off of him so that he could catch his breath, and then speak. “Room 702, they’re in a double suite with Mr. Reed,” he whispered, his voice scratchy.  He swallowed once, and then added softly, “Kaminski and Amatore, they’re here as the boss’s representatives, they’re in the room across the hall.  Number 703.”  He hesitated, and then said, “Reed doesn’t trust them at all.”

“Which I always found to be a shame, given that we have to work _together_ ,” a coldly familiar voice said as Bond felt a gun barrel pressed to the back of his skull.  “Please step back, double-oh seven, and drop your weapons.  All three of them,” Kaminski ordered, stepping back to give Bond room to move but never letting the gun off Bond.  “Signorina Amatore will need what’s left of her security staff.  The poor man that fell down the stairs snapped his neck, he didn’t stand a chance,” he added as Bond dropped the two knives and, very reluctantly, dropped the Walther as well. 

Bond slowly raised his hands after surrendering his weapons, watching in stony silence as the guard coughed before kneeling down to pick up the three weapons.  He gingerly stepped around Bond, unable to meet the agent in the eye, and silently handed the weapons to Kaminski.  It was too dark to see exactly where he placed the weapons, but Bond suspected that once Kaminski was dead, Bond would be able to easily find them again.

He did nothing as the guard slowly pulled his hands down and placed a ziptie around his wrists and then tested the tightness with a finger. 

“Lead the way, we’ll be right behind,” Kaminski ordered quietly, and the guard scrambled to obey.  Bond started to follow, but stopped when Kaminski caught his shoulder, keeping him in place.  “I had a little too much to drink tonight, double-oh seven,” Kaminski said in a lower voice, lowering the gun as he pulled the hammer back with an audible _click_.  “I do not quite trust my aim yet.  Reed wishes to speak with you, and unlike me, he _does_ mind when he has to speak with a corpse,” he added as he raised his gun again and pulled the trigger.

Bond watched in silence as the guard pitched forward and fell to the ground, his head making a muffled _thump_ when it connected with the ground.  “For talking?” he asked impassively, glancing at Kaminski.

The mercenary shook his head before nudging Bond forward.  “For seeing,” he replied as the two headed back to the lift.

Bond didn’t look back.

 _Two down, one to go_.


	20. Chapter 20

As soon as he stepped off the lift, Bond took the first opportunity to attack.

On the way up to the seventh floor, he’d guessed that Kaminski, after months of herding two small, _slow_ children around the world in a timely manner, would still be too used to traveling with them as opposed to an irritated assassin.  Bond’s suspicions were proved correct when the lift doors opened, and Kaminski reflexively let go of Bond’s tied hands while also lowering the gun in order to hold the lift doors open.  In the process, however, he left his entire front exposed.

Bond swiftly struck.

Throwing his head back, he gritted his teeth seconds before the back of his head collided with Kaminski’s forehead with a sickening _thunk_ , sending the other man stumbling back with a curse as his hands flew up to protect his face.  Bond lashed out with a kick that folded Kaminski in half and sent him the rest of the way to the ground.  Then he stepped into the lift, pressed the button for the ground floor, and then stepped back out, kicking the dropped gun seconds before the lift doors sealed an angered Kaminski inside.

Bond estimated that if Kaminski were determined enough, he’d try to overcome the pain and go to a closer level than the ground, shortening the time it took for him to return to the seventh floor.  The problem would come in climbing the stairs to get back to the proper floor to confront, especially if he were unaided.  Bond gave him fifteen to twenty minutes.

Bond planned to be long gone before a vengeful Kaminski returned.

Twisting his wrists to locate the ziptie, Bond gritted his teeth and jerked his shoulders forward, feeling a twinge of satisfaction when he heard the _snap_ of the ties breaking apart against his leg.  He rubbed his chafed wrists before turning back around to locate the stolen gun, kneeling to pick that up as well.  He noted with a pang of dismay that it wasn’t his Walther PPK, but rather a Beretta that must have been Kaminski’s.

Rolling his shoulders back, he began to walk down the hall, noting that the layout was similar to the floor he’d just been on.  Holding his breath, he moved to the side of the hall and listened carefully, a slow smile crossing his face when he heard the faint shuffling of footsteps on the carpet in the next intersection.  He stopped for a moment, listening as the other person paused as well, and for a moment, there was nothing but complete silence.

Then his opponent moved again.

Keeping the Beretta out, Bond flattened himself against the wall as another gray-uniformed man stepped out in the hall, face in the shadows as he held what suspiciously looked like an AK-47.  He glanced both ways before turning his back to Bond, slowly skulking away down the hall.  Bond carefully stepped forward, taking the opportunity to get a better shot at the guard’s head.

The guard unexpectedly turned, wielding the AK-47 as a club as he knocked the Beretta out of Bond’s hand.  Bond ducked when the guard struck again, and reached up to catch the AK-47’s barrel in a hand as the guard tried to ram it into Bond’s stomach. Bond grunted and stumbled backwards slightly at the loss of control, but jerked the gun off to the side and let it go.

The guard stumbled before falling forward right as Bond surged towards him, his fist going straight into the guard’s gut.  His teeth clacked uncomfortably when his head connected with the guard’s, but the other man finally collapsed, landing on his shoulder to roll away from Bond.  Growling, Bond picked up the fallen Beretta and leveled it at the guard’s face and pulled the hammer back right as the guard rolled over to face him.

“Bond!”

It took a second for Bond to recognize the voice.  “Double-oh two, what the _fuck_ are you doing?” he asked quietly, keeping the gun trained on the other man’s face.

002 scowled, but was careful not to move.  “I thought I would sneak in my own way, so I ambushed one of the guards and stole his uniform and gun,” he explained, nodding to the AK-47.  “It’s empty and I couldn’t find the other ammunition.  _You_ , meanwhile, fell out of contact and I thought you were captured,” he said, eyes never leaving the unmoving barrel pointing at his face before slowly standing up, hands in the air.  Bond stepped back, lowering the gun to allow 002 get up to his feet and dust his uniform off.  “I still haven’t located the Riddler’s room yet, I just saw Kaminski lurking around on this floor for a little while…” he admitted.

_My mole within MI6, Lieutenant Deeler…_

“I have the Riddler’s room number,” Bond said, mentally storing away the Riddler’s taunt from earlier that evening.  A careful scan of 002 told him that the uniform didn’t exactly fit, which definitely indicated that he’d stolen it.  The presence of a double agent in MI6, however, put Bond on high alert for any aspect of the mission going wrong, which started with the communications blackout.  The insider would have to be in a place at MI6 to be of use to the Riddler, but one whose presence wouldn’t be questioned in Q-Branch or anywhere else within the agency, especially since he or she had gone this long without getting caught.  002 was still relatively new to the agency, staff would definitely remember him since he hadn’t blended into the everyday environment of MI6 yet.  Shaking his head, Bond said, “We should get going; Kaminski will be here soon enough.  Assuming he can still walk.”

“Why wouldn’t he?” 002 asked, glancing back towards the lift as Bond placed the Beretta into the shoulder holster, rearranging the suit jacket to better conceal the weapon.

“It’s hard to walk when you’re folded in half,” Bond replied calmly before gesturing for 002 to follow him.  “Anyway, the first thing we need to find out is the Riddler’s son’s name, we can use that name to start tracking down the other operatives.”

“The Riddler has a son?”

“American, he works as an intern at Royal International Exports, the Riddler said as much earlier this evening,” Bond replied, thinking back to his conversation with Tess at Bentley’s Oyster Bar and Grill.  “The Riddler has two people working for him in London, one of whom is his son.  There are only two male American interns at Royal International, Michael Sandler and Edd Holton.  One of them is the Riddler’s son.” He glanced at 002, who grinned.  “Once you find one…”

“You find the other,” 002 finished saying as he pulled out his own Walther, careful to keep pace with Bond.  “Drag them both in for questioning, and then you can start dismantling the network.”

“You think the Riddler has a network?” Bond asked, glancing at 002 with a frown.

“According to mission files, Silva had one, didn’t he?  Then the Stafford girl took it after he died, and then Ramirez succeeded her,” 002 said, shrugging with one shoulder.  “I had a lot of time on my hands one day, and Q handed me a few briefs to read to keep me from getting underfoot in Q-Branch.”

“When we find the Riddler, you get the kids out and start arranging for transport to London,” Bond said, his voice dropping slightly as they approached the door with a gold ‘702’ on the front above the peephole.  “I’ll subdue the Riddler, and then get the communications back online,” he added in a near whisper as they flanked the doors.  He glanced at 002, held up five fingers, and then waited for 002’s acknowledgement before starting the silent countdown.  _Five, four, three, two, one-_

Moving swiftly, Bond stepped back and kicked the door open, 002 slipping in first with his gun ready as Bond followed him inside and kept a careful eye out for potential threats.

The main suite was lit, but empty.  A half-finished wine glass sat on a nearby table, a few toys were strewn about the floor, and a child’s blue jumper lay on one of the lamps.  There was a distinct lack of _sound_ in the suite; Bond couldn’t even hear the sound of children sleeping or a bed creaking as someone tossed and turned.  There were two doors in the suite, both closed, and Bond gestured for 002 to head to the left as he turned to the right.

“Good evening, gentlemen.”

Bond froze, but 002 turned sharply around at the voice behind him, raising his gun but not pulling the trigger.  It wasn’t until he heard a soft whimper that Bond finally turned as well, teeth clenching when he located the Riddler standing in the open entrance of the hotel suite.  He kept a pistol pressed against a boy’s head—the ambassador’s youngest son, Bond realized—as he casually surveyed the two agents. The little boy, meanwhile, had his eyes tightly screwed shut, and his cheeks were slightly puffed out in an effort to remain absolutely still.  He also still wore his pajamas, and Bond suspected that the Riddler had pulled the child out of bed as a last minute defense.  Even if M wanted the Riddler dead on sight, which he didn’t, Bond didn’t think he could hit the Riddler without risking the child.

The Riddler seemed to have arrived to the same conclusion.  Smiling, he said, “You’ve gotten softer, Bond.  Three years ago, you wouldn’t have hesitated to shoot me, hostage or not.” Ruffling the boy’s hair, he added, “Although, it helps to know that you want the children alive.” Beaming at the two agents, he said, “But where are my manners?  Do sit down, gentlemen.”  Hauling the boy by the collar, he sat the child down in the nearest chair as Bond and 002 moved to the nearest armchairs.

Bond kept his eyes on the Riddler, sensing that he was missing something crucial.  The bodyguard that Kaminski killed downstairs hadn’t known where the Riddler was, yet traveled with him to Sydney.  If the Riddler was as paranoid as he appeared to be—it took MI6 six months to find his base, seven months to even get a _name_ —he’d keep his guards close, especially once he knew that MI6 had agents at the exposition as well.  Sitting down and calculating the best attack strategy, Bond leaned back and casually asked, “All right, so you have the advantage.  What do you want?”

The Riddler narrowed his eyes.  “What do you mean?” he asked, his eyes narrowing as his grip on the boy’s collar tightened.

“Exactly what I’m saying.  You have the hostages; you know what we want, so you have the upper hand.  What do you want?” Bond asked patiently, noting the slight tension in 002’s muscles.

The Riddler warily glanced between the two of them before his gaze settled on Bond again.  Squaring his shoulders, he said, “Frankly Bond, I want your _head_.”

Bond stood up, spreading his hands as he raised them in the air.  “All yours.  I’m disarmed, remember?” he said, allowing the edge of a taunt to enter his voice as he stepped forward.

The Riddler arched an eyebrow at the invitation, and then lifted the gun away from the child and promptly fired at Bond.

Bond promptly dropped to the ground, the bullet harmlessly hitting the back of the previously occupied armchair.  002 sprang to his feet at the same time with a knife appearing in his hand and his arm blurring a second later.  Bond next saw the knife embed itself into the Riddler’s shoulder, sending the American stumbling backwards into the wall.  The moment the child was free, he bolted towards one of the in-suite doors, slamming it in his rush to get inside. The Riddler, meanwhile, snarled before staggering to his feet, using the wall as a support as Bond snatched the dropped Beretta before he too climbed to his feet.

To his credit, the Riddler didn’t speak before yanking the knife out of his shoulder and throwing it carelessly in Bond’s general direction.  The agent easily sidestepped the blade as he moved towards the door in an effort to cut off the Riddler’s escape route. 002 had moved to stand in front of the door through which the child had ran earlier, another, smaller, knife in his hand.  Using the Riddler’s focus on Bond, 002 tried to sneak closer to snatch his own gun back, but jumped back as though burned when the Riddler fired in his direction.  Kicking away the gun so that it slid underneath an armchair, the Riddler’s face contorted in silent pain as he switched hands for his own gun, trying to keep the barrel on Bond.

Bond took the gesture as an invitation to fire next.  He jumped back, and then backpedaled until he could roll behind the armchair for safety as the Riddler returned fire.  Silently cursing M for wanting the man alive, Bond pulled the hammer back and counted to three; he knew that the Riddler would now monitor both agents in case one was a distraction for the other.  He closed his eyes, counted two more to steady himself, and then stood up and fired at the Riddler.

The Riddler dodged the bullets and instead lunged for Bond, taking a running leap with his hands outstretched as though to strangle Bond.  The agent grunted as he fell backwards when the Riddler’s heavy weight slammed into him; he could brace himself all he wanted, but he knew he’d never be ready for the actual attack.  He rolled out of the way of the falling armchair, which had caught on the Riddler’s foot, and then managed to punch the Riddler in the face before the other man slammed him down onto the ground, rough, blood-slicked hands reaching for his throat.  Bond gritted his teeth before head butting the Riddler, only causing the man to sway for a few moments before he drove his fist into Bond’s nose.  Exhaling sharply through his nose in an attempt to clear it, Bond found the Riddler’s wrists and _squeezed_ , digging his fingers into the soft skin.  There was an audible _crack_ , and the Riddler howled before Bond shoved him off to the side.

He lunged for the dropped Beretta again, missing only when the Riddler grabbed his ankle and _pulled_ him away from the gun.  Bond used the leverage from the Riddler’s strength to twist onto his hip and push off the ground to drive another fist into the Riddler’s eye, pouring months of anger and frustration into the attack.  The Riddler tumbled backwards, and Bond tried to scramble forward in the lull but the Riddler’s next kick threw him off balance.  He still kept going despite the near inability to breathe and he could see the Riddler standing up and charging, a small dagger in his hand.

_“James!”_

Rolling into a crouch, Bond glanced in time to catch the knife that 002 slid towards him across the floor.  He turned back to the Riddler and raised the point right as the Riddler came down, the dagger aiming for Bond’s neck.

_Bang!_

The Riddler’s head snapped back in a spray of blood, his body landing in an awkward heap centimeters in front of Bond.  Twisting around to face the new gunman, Bond easily turned the knife in his hand and _threw_ it at the suite entrance, where Kaminski skillfully ducked and the blade embedded itself into the doorframe.  Bond reached for and picked up the Beretta right as Kaminski withdrew another Beretta and aimed it at the same time as Bond.  The mild adrenaline jolt of seeing another weapon aimed at him caused Bond to hesitate for the briefest of seconds.

“White flag?” Kaminski asked quietly, the oddity of the request throwing Bond off enough to fractionally lower his gun.

“Why should I trust you?” Bond resisted the urge to wipe his nose, unwilling to afford a momentary distraction from the mercenary in front of him.

Kaminski raised an eyebrow before abruptly lowering his gun.  “Because you’re gushing blood and I just saved your life?” he asked mildly as he set his gun down on the floor.  He tilted his head, and said, “I suspect that it is broken.”

Bond scowled, but gave in and gingerly wiped the blood away with a sleeve, wincing at the twinge of pain.  Experience told him it was damaged cartilage, which meant that Medical would keep him tied down for a little while once he returned to London.  “Why did you step in like that?” he asked coldly, keeping the gun on Kaminski.  “More importantly, why shoot your boss?”

“The answer to the first question is that I have several thousand American dollars depending on your survival.  A risky bet with a friend, but an enjoyable one so far,” Kaminski said, stepping into the suite and walking with a faint limp towards the in-suite door, in front of which 002 remained standing.  “As for the answer to the second, I shot the man paid to pose as my boss.  He knew too much and outlived his usefulness, and the boss doesn’t keep liabilities for very long.”

Cold washed over Bond at the man’s words.  The bodyguard downstairs hadn’t known where the Riddler was… because he hadn’t been hired to protect the Riddler.  Just an American named Hal Dmitri Reed.  The Riddler, the man who tried to kill Alex Winfield, had never been in Sydney.  Bond glanced back at the corpse before turning back to Kaminski.   “Why should I believe you?” he asked coldly, raising the gun again.

“Because, Bond, if I wanted to lie to you, I would have let you kill the imposter and believe the Riddler dead, lowering your guard for another strike at the Winfield boy,” Kaminski said, reaching into his coat to pull another gun out.  Both Bond and 002 tensed until Bond recognized the Walther PPK.  “Excellent technology, my compliments to your quartermaster,” Kaminski added, kneeling to slid the gun across the floor towards Bond, who knelt long enough snatch it and tuck it safely away.

“MI6 confirmed the man’s identity before sending us out here,” 002 said, holding his ground as Kaminski stopped in front of him.  “And you’re not getting to the children, either.  They’re ours now.”

Kaminski quietly regarded 002 before stepping back so that he could see both 00 agents.  “The Riddler, the real one mind you, was very specific about how the children were to die tonight,” he said, making eye contact with Bond.  “Single shots to the forehead about fifteen paces away, leave the bodies in your quarters for you to find this evening.  Something about a personal vendetta that needs settling.  I suspect that Winfield will meet a similar fate,” he warned before turning to 002.  “The children’s names are Anthony and Elizabeth, the girl is older than her brother and they both hate flying, although primarily the actual flight since there’s too much sitting involved.”

002 nodded, eyes narrowing slightly as Kaminski turned and awkwardly made his way to the nearest armchair.  Bond kept the gun trained on Kaminski’s head as the mercenary leaned back in his seat, eyes closing.  “Why would your master waste all this effort, then?  Why waste the money and time, _and_ risk capture from MI6 and the CIA?” he asked, frowning when Kaminski cracked an eye open to regard him.

“Well, how else was the Riddler supposed to lure you out of England?” Kaminski asked softly, his words numbing Bond’s veins.  “You would have never left Winfield’s side unless you had a very good reason to, and why not present a golden opportunity to capture a man you’ve been hunting for seven months?”  Shaking his head, Kaminski closed his eyes again as he said, “We… decided that it was better to divide and conquer than attempt a full assault on an united front.”

Bond stared at him, processing the man’s words.

It was a twenty-two hour flight from London to Sydney.

He’d already been gone for at least one, if not two, days.

Alex never texted back.

Taking a step back, he mechanically pulled his mobile out of his pocket, noting that he had a signal again.  As 002 watched in silence, Bond dialed Alex’s number and raised the phone to his ear, silently praying for Alex to pick up.

_“Sorry, but the number you are trying to reach has been disconnected-”_

“If you hurry, double-oh seven, you might just get back before it’s too late,” Kaminski said without opening his eyes.  He turned towards 002 and said, “Just give me a moment to recover, and then Amatore and I will leave in peace.”

Bond didn’t hear him—he was already on his way out the door, furiously dialing Eve and swearing to himself as he ran towards the lift.

_Oh God, Alex.  Please, please be okay._

_Please be alive._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter, and then the promised 00Q fluff :)


	21. Chapter 21

When he finally saw her, James Bond thought that Eve looked exhausted.

She stood in the Arrivals waiting area with an anxious-looking man beside her, nodding once when she made eye contact with James.  The agent was still with 002 at the baggage claim, keeping an eye on a surprisingly squirmy five-year old Anthony as 002 kept an eye on the older sister, Elizabeth.  James regretted his decision to let Anthony hold his hand when he felt Anthony accidentally yank his arm nearly out of its socket, tugging on scarred tissue from where Eve had shot him years ago.  He tensed when he felt Anthony fall still, however, and he discreetly scanned their surroundings for anyone that Anthony could have perceived as a familiar, malevolent face.

His assumption turned out to be half correct.

“ _Daddy!”_ Anthony screamed, startling everyone in the vicinity.  Only James’ quick reflexes kept Anthony from sprinting across the room to his father, whose head snapped up at the sound.  James saw Eve discreetly point the two of them out to the man, but looked down right as Anthony tried to lunge forward again, screeching incoherently when James didn’t let him go.  James didn’t dare let Anthony go, however, he’d seen one too many missions fall apart at the last second because agents had lowered their guards seconds before the enemy tried for one last strike.

He glanced briefly at 002 before allowing Anthony to drag him towards where the ambassador waited with Eve, letting Anthony go once they were less than three meters away.  James tried not to wince as he rubbed his shoulder before turning to Eve, silently noting her placating smile and feeling himself tense.  “What happened?” he asked, careful to keep his voice down.  “Is he hurt?”

There was no need to clarify.  Eve grimaced, and then said quietly, “He’s alive and in one piece, and as far as we know, also safe.”  She held up a hand to forestall James’ next words and added, “We’ll discuss it further on the way to your next mission.”

“Eve, MI6 has a double agent working for the Riddler,” James growled.  “He-”

“Got chased out of the country and is currently resting in a Parisian hospital after receiving treatment for three gunshot wounds, we know,” Eve finished, smiling at 002 as the latter approached them and released Elizabeth’s hand so she could rejoin her father and brother.  Turning back to James, Eve whispered, “I can tell you everything when it’s just the two of us.” James bit back a growl of frustration as Eve turned to 002 and asked, “So how was Sydney?”

“Dicey.  Made a new friend though.”  002 studied the tension in Eve’s shoulders and James’ frustrated expression before he said, “I assume I’ll be escorting the ambassador somewhere very soon, correct?”

“Yes, to M’s office.  You will check in with Q-Branch, and then see M once he’s ready to see you,” Eve replied.  “I have to escort Bond to his next mission.  “Oh, and one more thing before you go,” she added as 002 started to turn to where the ambassador was waiting.

“Yes?” he asked, glancing back at her.

“One, the keys to your car are under the sunshade of the silver BMW, the ambassador knows which one.  Two, do _not_ mention the Riddler or any double agents or anything of the sort around M, he’s still wound up over the whole mess surrounding the double agent fleeing the country,” Eve warned before gesturing for James to follow her.

James waited until they were alone in the parking garage, walking towards a black company car before he snarled, “You fucking let him _escape_ the bloody country?”

“M hoped that he would eventually return to the Riddler’s headquarters, Q-Branch is tracking him now,” Eve said as she unlocked the car doors, moving to the driver’s side before James could. Getting into the car, she said, “Trust me when I say that we did not make the escape easy for him.”

“Who was it?”

Eve hesitated, sighed, and then started the car.  “It was Lee Reardon, double-oh one.”

“Christ.” James leaned back in his seat, feeling as though the wind had been knocked out of him.  He and Reardon hadn’t been particularly close, not the way James and Alec were, but James had still _trusted_ him.  Had Reardon snapped after Paris seven months ago, and had been careful enough to disguise it after the Riddler approached him with a job offer?  James recalled Reardon’s request to watch Winfield before James left for Sydney.  He closed his eyes, feeling strangely relieved that he’d decided to wait to approve the request instead of going ahead with it even if it did inconvenience a few people in the process.  Slowly exhaling, he asked, “How did you catch him?”

“I don’t know how Tess figured it out, but Missy confirmed it when the vet found Reardon’s DNA under her claws when he examined her over,” Eve said, staring straight ahead.  “Since we know she only attacked strangers, we assumed Reardon had been at the flat alone with Winfield when two gunshots were heard.” Eve hesitated, and the unease grew in James’ gut as she said, “Heather Nelson, the Q-Branch kid watching him, was the last person to see Winfield before he disappeared, she said he seemed shaken but otherwise intact-”

“Eve, what are you not telling me?” James kept his voice steady despite the anger and guilt in his chest.

Eve sighed.  “Missy is dead,” she said, James growing cold at her words.  “Two bullets, one to the back and the other to the head.  The vet said it was a mercy headshot; she would have been in pain for the rest of her life otherwise.  Both bullets came from the same gun, a Walther PPK.  Given that we know Reardon didn’t try to defend himself when he fled the country, he’s unarmed,” Eve said, glancing at James.

James slowly exhaled, unwittingly able to picture the image of Missy’s last moments with Winfield; the younger man wouldn’t have left her alone for something like that.  “Damn… Eve, I swear he loved that cat more than me sometimes.  Missy belonged to his mother first,” he said, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“Well, for what it’s worth, she and Winfield still got the last strike in,” Eve pointed out.  “Anyway, since Reardon is unarmed, you will have to be careful when retrieving Winfield, M wants him back in London and in MI6 custody.” Turning back to the road, she added, “He disappeared not long after the attack, heading north.  He’s been avoiding every traffic camera since then.”

James snorted. “Well, I always did like a good challenge.  Whose car did he take?” he asked.

“Tess’ car.  She later stole Alec’s, so Q-Branch had to supply another car for today.  You’re taking the one that’s waiting in the car park at the complex, and Alec and I will take this one back to headquarters,” she said, reaching into the glove box to pull out a set of keys and hand them over to James.  “Don’t crash it.  Alec nearly did this morning, idiot thought he could drive with a bandaged arm…”

“He was shot?”

“Winfield evidently thought Alec worked for Reardon, and reacted accordingly,” Eve explained, slowing down as they approached the now-familiar complex.  James noted the numerous police vehicles as Eve pulled up to the entrance, but he didn’t ask.   “Alec will have a little more information, and then you’re free to go.  He was with Tess from when they tried to save Winfield to when she took off after Reardon,” she explained, nodding to the front doors.  “I’ll be inside in a few minutes, just tell the receptionist that you’re MI5 and you’re looking for Trevelyan.  Five’s agreed to the deception since M’s trying to keep Six’s intentions discreet in case there’s another double agent hidden in the staff,” she said, handing over a badge.

James grunted before taking the badge and getting out of the car, walking calmly into the complex as he straightened his jacket.  He recognized Ms. Ridley sitting behind her desk, but she only scowled at him before going back to something in front of her.  Her brow furrowed in concentration as he approached the desk and waited patiently for a moment.

“Excuse me, ma’am?” he finally said, catching her attention.  When she pointedly raised an eyebrow, he said, “I’m with MI5, do you happen to know where-”

“Upstairs, Flat 712,” she said crisply, lips pinching together in a scowl when he didn’t immediately react.  James nodded and then turned to leave, and was almost to the lift when she snapped, “You leave him alone, understand me?  I don’t know what the bloody hell you could want him for, but he’s just gotten out of the hospital and he’s all alone and-”

 _Don’t fucking remind me._   “We just want to talk to him, nothing else,” James replied in a curt tone before pressing the button for the lift.

When he stepped out of the lift, a few minutes later, James paused to take in the surprising amount of police officers gathered around the entrance to Winfield’s flat.  A woman started to approach him, but James wordlessly flashed the badge in her direction before walking past her, ignoring her sputtered protests as he stepped into the flat.  Mindful of the numerous evidence markers scattered about on the floor, he approached Alec and stood silently next to him as police moved around them.  Alec was wearing a borrowed MI5 uniform and had his arm in a sling, the sleeve bulging slightly at the bandages.  “How was Sydney?” he finally asked James, who shrugged with one shoulder.

“A fucking trap.  You?”

Alec shrugged.  “Same thing.  Reardon apparently ambushed Winfield when he returned home.  Winfield was supposed to meet with Tess at Royal International after he found out that you and I worked for MI6 and panicked.  But then the Holton intern attacked them both, and everything went south after that,” he quietly explained as they watched the police worked.  “A neighbor heard the gunfire, and MI6 just barely beat the Met here.  We had to work a deal out.”

“Eve says you spooked Winfield?” James said, glancing pointedly at Alec’s arm.

“Didn’t know he had a gun, much less that he remembered how to use it.  Even though you should be careful, Q thinks the Walther is empty,” Alec replied quietly.  “One bullet in my arm, one in Reardon’s collar, and two in Missy make four.  Three scattered shots make seven, which are how many rounds a Walther PPK can hold.  We just don’t know if he’ll have the chance or resources to reload.” He turned to James and said, “On top of that, he stole his laptop back and we _still_ don’t know what the hell is on it.”

James nodded as he watched the forensics teams work.  “Any clues as to where he might have gone?”

“He was last seen heading north, and since he has Tess’ car, there’s no way to track him,” he said, nudging James to follow him back into the hall. “Nelson said he didn’t want anyone following him.”

“Too bad that I missed that warning.  Not that I would have listened in the first place, I was never good with his directions,” James muttered as they stepped out into the hall.  Glancing warily back at the officers as they walked towards the lifts, he asked, “How did Tess handle everything when she found out?”

Alec winced.  “Very… badly, and not because Reardon had the guts to show up to her flat playing the victim.  I’d even say she overreacted, but M’s ordered a reexamination of Paris and Reardon’s recorded therapy sessions afterwards.  Just in case we missed something.” Shaking his head, Alec pressed the button for the lift and said, “Tess is unavailable right now, though.”

“Where is she?” James asked, noticing for the first time the distinct lack of their colleague’s presence.

“M revoked her double-oh status after she tried to gun Reardon down in the Eurostar train station in the middle of the holiday traffic.  It took two special ops snipers to tranq her before civilians were injured.  M was even considering on sending Eve out as well before one of the snipers succeeded.”  The two men stepped onto the lift when the doors opened, and Alec pressed the button for the lobby.  “On paper though, M changed her resignation date so she can leave in peace once Medical and Psych are done with her. Eve is in charge of her affairs until then,” he added as the lift began to descend.

“Any way I can talk to her once I get back?” James asked as he glanced at Alec, who shook his head.

“M’s forbidden it.  No one except him, Eve, and the approved medical staff can talk to her, and then we’re to leave her be after,” Alec said, making a face. 

“Do you think Reardon killed Will?” James asked, arching an eyebrow as the lift stopped at the fifth floor.

“That would recast the entire mission into a new light.  Winfield is the only one who can tell us at this point,” Alec replied grimly as the lift doors opened.

Margot Phillips calmly stepped onto the lifts, bundled up as though heading out.  She calmly ignored the two men as she turned around to face forward.  Judging from Alec’s stiff posture, James surmised that recent events prompted Alec to break off whatever it was they’d had, and Margot had either not taken it well or was still pursuing answers that Alec refused to give.  Exhaling slowly, deciding on a course of action, James said, “Alec?”

“James, if you do what I think you’re about to do, I _will_ punch you regardless of whether there is a lady present,” Alec replied in a controlled voice, Margot shifting once before falling still again.

“Mm. I was just going to say that I ran into our mutual friend from Moscow,” James said casually, staring ahead at the doors.

He saw Alec twitch out of the corner of his eye.  “Did you tell him to go to hell from me?” he asked casually, still not relaxing.

“Not in as many words.  Where will you be when I get back and need to drop off the package for some reason or another?” James asked calmly as he silently gauged the distance between him and the scrap of paper he could see in the opening of Margot’s bag.

“Most likely in my flat near Vauxhall, making sure that our mutual colleague is all right.  I don’t think that O’Reilly is as impervious to bribery as he likes to claim he is,” Alec replied, giving James a smug expression before facing forward again.

James scowled.  “O’Reilly didn’t listen to me the last time I tried to bargain with him,” he said, carefully slipping the paper out of Margot’s bag along with the pen in the side pocket.

“Threats of evisceration tend to have that effect on people,” Alec replied mildly as James wrote down two addresses and added, ‘ _A little time and space wouldn’t hurt first’_ before slipping the paper back into the bag. 

“At least I offered to make it painless,” James muttered when the lift doors opened at the lobby.  Alec was faster in getting off, slipping past Margot without acknowledging her.  Shoulders squared, she got off next but James easily caught up to her, muttering, “Don’t forget to check the other,” as he passed her to join Eve and Alec, who were standing in the middle of the lobby as police moved around them.  He nodded in greeting to Eve as he joined them, and asked, “Any last minute information?”

“M is tempted to keep you here until Q-Branch locates Winfield, just to keep you from roaming the countryside unchecked if anything,” Eve said when James made eye contact with her.

“If he doesn’t want to be found, he won’t be found.  Lucky for us, I have a pretty good idea of where his usual hiding spots are, both in and out of London,” James warned.  “Where did you think he would go?” he asked, even as a thought occurred to him; Winfield was going north, and there was only one place in the north that James knew that Winfield knew very well.  He pulled out his mobile and texted _‘Are you alone?’_ before stuffing the phone back into his pocket.

“Southwest, to his childhood home or at least in a familiar area,” Eve replied, leaning back on a foot.  “M thought he’d go somewhere safe, so we have surveillance teams on the house and surrounding area in case he does resurface there, and that he’d just given us the slip by going north.”

“His childhood home isn’t safe, he sold the house after his mother died,” James said, trying to think.  “Tess’ car is the one without the trackers, correct?” he asked, mentally berating himself for not being as caught up with the mission as he would have liked.  He always forgot how much distance he’d put between himself and Winfield in those early months after Paris, when there seemed to be very little chance of his partner remembering anything.

“She couldn’t risk having anything in there that would tip Winfield off in the event he was ever in the car with her,” Eve explained patiently.  “Her earpiece was still active that night, Q said that she surrendered the car keys to Winfield in an act of trust so that he would go with her.”

“Has Q checked Holton’s background?” James asked.

“We keep finding the same information everywhere we look.  M is pressuring the Department of Defence to contact the American embassy so they can contact Holton’s father.  The only problem is that the American ambassador, Lucas Stafford, had returned to the States two weeks ago for a family emergency, and won’t be back for a while,” Eve said grimly.  “Since the Riddler is playing with us again, especially with what you’ve said about Sydney so far, M wants to make sure that MI6’s connections to the case are as invisible as possible.”

“Find the father, and you’ll have found the Riddler.  Both Kaminski and the imposter hinted that Holton was the Riddler’s son.  And Holton was a programmer, of course he was able to digitally cover his tracks,” James said, biting back a flash of frustration; he hadn’t dealt with a criminal who liked games this much since the months following Skyfall.

“When Tess wakes up again, we’ll have to see if she remembers anything from her interactions with Winfield and Holton at RIE,” Alec said, glancing at Eve for confirmation.  “She never wore an earpiece while working there, and someone’s already fucked around with twenty-four hours of security footage the day Winfield stole the laptop and was attacked later that evening.”

“And I’ll head out for Winfield, I have a potential lead that I’m following up right now,” James said, noticing and ignoring Eve’s arched eyebrow.

“That fast?” she asked warily.

“I told you, I know Winfield’s haunts in and outside of London.  There’s only one that I know of for sure since we share that one up north,” James replied calmly.  “Now listen.  Tell M that I when go after Winfield, I want to go alone.  I don’t even want surveillance,” he said, glancing at Eve for confirmation.  “He won’t trust me at all when I arrive, getting it back will be necessary in order to coax him back here.  One hint of MI6 and I’ll have to start all over again.”

Alec nodded.  “Q suggests approaching him with kid gloves at first, but not so obviously that he catches on.  Gain back his cooperation at the very least,” he said as James’ phone beeped with an incoming message.  “Give him something familiar to work with,” he suggested as James pulled out the phone to read the reply: ‘ _No. He thinks you’re dead again’._

“That will take time,” James said as he texted back ‘ _Don’t let him go’_ before putting the phone away. 

“M says to take as much time as necessary, but for every day that Winfield’s out of headquarters, it’s one more day he’s at risk of another attack,” Eve warned.  “If you need _anything_ , please call instead of trying to take care of it yourself, we need you _both_ intact.”

James nodded.  “I’m going now, don’t want to lose Winfield while I still have him,” he said, smirking at Eve’s stunned expression before turning to leave. 

“Wait, where is he?” Alec demanded, following James to the main entrance.

“Keep an eye out for the Riddler, if there’s anything I’ve learned about him, it’s that he’s unpredictable,” James said, glancing at his friend.  He turned back to look at Eve, who was arguing with an officer that had approached her.  “I don’t want M to know where I’m going because this happens to be _my_ refuge as well, but I don’t anticipate we’ll be running into any trouble.”  Feeling the reassuring weight of his Walther against his thigh, James said, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a wayward ex-Quartermaster to bring home.”

“Oh yeah? Where are you going?” Alec asked, grinning as James began to walk away.

“Skyfall,” James replied without looking over his shoulder as he left the building.

He just hoped he could get there in time.


	22. Chapter 22

_I can’t stay here_. _I shouldn’t even be here._

Despite those misgivings, he still couldn’t bring himself to leave.

Alex stared out the nearby window from where he was curled up on the couch with the stolen laptop in one of the smaller lounge rooms scattered about on the second floor of Skyfall manor. He could see little of the fog-covered grounds against the bleak December landscape from where he lay, a hand resting on the laptop keyboard and the other on the head of one of the two black Labrador retrievers that lived here with the groundskeeper. Even without good visibility, however, he instinctively knew that there was a small chapel and cemetery out there, surrounded by a moor that was most likely iced over by now.

He nearly started when he saw a small black figure approaching the manor, but belatedly remembered that it was only Kincade, the Skyfall groundskeeper who had been keeping an eye on him since he arrived four or five days ago.  Alex didn’t remember much of their initial introduction; just that the car had died halfway down the drive and he’d stumbled out and collapsed into a heap on the gravel before Kincade hauled him back to his feet.  The man had taken the keys from Alex in order to retrieve the car later, and Alex had had to play along when Kincade gently questioned him about James’s whereabouts.  Alex remembered in time that Skyfall technically belonged to James Bond,  and lied, saying that James had died overseas. 

Kincade had taken the news unusually well, which left Alex wondering just how many times James had been incorrectly declared dead over the years.

_Ping!_

Alex looked back at his laptop, pleased to find that he’d finally logged into the MI6 networks under the Quartermaster’s credentials, a feature he’d found already programmed within the laptop. In his quest to completely forget the night he’d fled London, he’d taken to hunting down information on his potential hunters as well as the situation that landed him in this position in the first place. Sitting up on the couch, he accessed one of the databases, searching for the personnel files for the 00 agents.  James Bond’s MI6 files had had the security codes changed in the last couple weeks, but it took Alex a few minutes of scrambling the encryptions to pinpoint the correct combination.  James would have his mission dossiers around here, something that would give Alex the official data and objective when it came to himself. He simply needed to know why James had been hunting him down.

If there was one thing Alex didn’t understand, it was why MI6 _waited_ ; they knew where he was, no one would have missed his disappearance. 

_Maybe they needed confirmation that I actually had the data?_

Pinching the bridge of his nose to ward off another headache—hitting his head during Reardon’s attack and promptly running on nothing but adrenaline afterwards had been detrimental to his recovery—Alex squinted at the screen as he located James’s profile.  Clicking on the link, he leaned back to let it load, switching over to the Word document that had his research notes so far.

He’d been reading up on each agent, trying to find anything that backed up what Tess told him back in RIE’s lobby before Reardon’s attack.  The only match to Tess’s story that he could find so far was in William Fairbanks’s and Lee Reardon’s files, how they’d been tasked with protecting the MI6 Quartermaster in a data retrieval mission that went awry in Paris.  The files actually confused Alex further, as to how valuable data could wind up from MI6’s grasp into his own. There wasn’t any mention of other personnel, unofficial or otherwise, but Alex guessed that perhaps he’d been left unmentioned since MI6 preferred to cover up the fact that they used criminals in their missions.  James would have been instrumental in ensuring in Alex’s cooperation, and the fact that Alex couldn’t remember a fourth individual in the recurring nightmare was simply another gaping hole in his memory.

He had briefly entertained the idea that perhaps _he_ was the unnamed Quartermaster, but ran into problems when he remembered James using an alias at their first meeting in the National Art Gallery and maintaining the charade until he accidentally blew it with a text message.  James, for some reason unbeknownst to Alex, saw fit to create and maintain a lie, as did Doctor Redding and Tess.  MI6 hadn’t wanted him to know that they were watching him.

He did recall that Holton and Reardon had used the title in a derisive manner, had it been a discreet jibe at the fact that _he_ perhaps had inadvertently led to the Quartermaster’s death? From what he understood of MI6’s records, the Quartermaster’s identity and files were carefully sealed away, usually deleted or otherwise removed from the database. If he had inadvertently killed the other man, however, it would offer an explanation of why MI6 was still interested in him, ‘for reasons other than the memory stick’, to quote Tess. He had no way to verify his theories.

 _I just don’t fucking know for sure_.

He paused long enough to listen in the hall for any sound of footsteps before switching windows back to searching for James’s dossiers and past mission logs; he’d mostly found post-mission reports so far, some with redacted information, others completely unavailable. Kincade was going to have his head if he caught Alex working, something about _resting_ and not aggravating the minor concussion even more…

He jerked when a cold, wet nose unexpectedly nudged his palm, and managed a scowl for all of five seconds until Ilsa, the docile retriever of the pair, whined softly before Alex scratched the top of her head again.  She tilted her head expectantly, tail thumping against the carpet until he sighed and lifted the laptop.  “All right, up you get,” he said, bracing himself in time for Ilsa to jump onto his blanket-covered legs and settle down, her head resting on top of her paws on his lap. Alex leaned over and placed the laptop on the small table next to the couch, silently grateful that it was the perfect height. 

Minimizing the open program on the laptop, he took another sip of Earl Grey from the Scrabble mug he’d found downstairs in the kitchen before accessing an interactive map of the world from MI6’s databases.  Each administrator and 00 agent had a tracker on the map, and James’s own, the _007_ dot, had been Sydney the last time Alex had checked. He typed in the coordinates for the area surrounding Skyfall, and leaned back as the map began to zoom in on the specified area.

 _Knock, knock_.

Alex flinched and shut the laptop closed, composing himself as Kincade pushed the door open and walked in with the other retriever, Winston, at his heels.  Winston joyfully jumped up onto the couch, somehow avoiding Alex’s ankles and stepping on Ilsa’s tail as he settled down between Ilsa and the couch. Kincade, seemingly unaware of the fact that Alex had been working even though he wasn’t supposed to, headed over to the dying fire to place more wood in the grate.  “Thank you,” he said once Kincade turned around to face him.

“Fire should be good for another couple of hours, and they’ll keep you warm even longer,” he said, nodding to the two dogs as Winston whined, nudging Alex’s closest hand.  Alex obligingly scratched Winston as Kincade draped a second blanket over the back of the couch.  “How are you feeling this morning?” he asked, brow furrowing as he studied Alex.

“Better, physically anyway.” Alex didn’t mention the two hours of sleep he’d gotten last night before waking up in a cold sweat at three in the morning.  Ilsa slept at his side every night, but sometimes even her presence wasn’t enough to calm Alex down enough for sleep again.  Alex glanced at the laptop again, aware that he had limited time before MI6 tried again, and then said, “I was actually thinking I wouldn’t stay for much longer, I mean, I do greatly appreciate your hospitality and if there was a way to repay you, please let me know.” Adjusting his glasses, he admitted with a slightly pounding heart, “I got into a spot of trouble in London, and I don’t want it to find me here, I-”

His voice died when he abruptly recalled Reardon’s face, looming out of the dark, and the twisted fury seconds before-

A soft whine caught his attention, bringing him back to the present.  Ilsa crept forward and bumped his elbow with her nose.  Alex looked up at Kincade, and offered what he hoped was a sincere smile.  “I just don’t want to bring trouble to your door,” he said carefully, forcing himself to _not_ look at the laptop. Kincade had been kind to him, but Alex had no idea what MI6 would do once they found the man harboring him, especially in an agent’s home…

“Unless you’re bringing a chopper-full of terrorists that I should know about, then we’ll be fine,” Kincade replied, turning to leave the room. Alex stared after him for a moment until Kincade paused and then turned back around.  “Before I forget,” he said, pausing in the doorway, “I called yesterday for a doctor to come up here for a house visit today, just to check you over.”

Alex frowned.  Other than the headaches and the occasional twinge in a joint and the sleeplessness, he felt fine.  “You didn’t have to do that…” he said slowly, adjusting his position to give Winston a little more room.

“Still better to have a professional check you over, you were a right mess when you arrived here,” Kincade interrupted, shrugging before turning to leave.  “Doctor will be here soon.”

“Then _I_ should probably get dressed,” Alex muttered as Kincade closed the door behind him.  Grasping the edge of the couch, Alex tried to hoist himself up, but stopped when he realized exactly how heavy two dogs were.  Ilsa lay on his legs while Winston lay partially on his ankles, both parts of his anatomy that he needed to move in order to get up.  Frowning, he snapped his fingers near the ground like Kincade had shown him, wondering what the proper verbal command was for this situation.  Kincade certainly hadn’t mentioned one…

Ilsa merely yawned before resting her head on her paws again while Winston thumped his tail against the opposite armrest. Other than that, neither dog moved.

Alex sighed, reminding himself that he could be getting the commands wrong.  Pinching the bridge of his nose, he wondered if the doctor would be willing to give Alex a chance to get dressed before checking him over.  Alex already felt a little guilty about taking up the doctor’s time as it was with the drive to Skyfall.  At least Alex had the assurance that this one wouldn’t be an undercover MI6 agent.  Turning back to the dogs, he said, “Ilsa? Winston? _Down_ ,” while repeating the hand gesture.  This time, Ilsa didn’t react while Winston shifted to lie down across Alex’s feet, nose hanging over the edge of the couch.

“Neither of you are getting rubs of any kind until you _both_ get off me,” Alex growled as he tried to squirm free.  He paused to catch his breath, and then waited a few moments before Ilsa abruptly crawled forward again.  He tried to use that opportunity to slip out from underneath the blanket and the two dogs, but Ilsa immediately lay down again, placing the bulk of her weight right on Alex’s knees, pinning him down again. “Christ, you are fucking _heavy_ ,” he grumbled as he tried squirming again, nearly knocking the closed laptop over with an elbow.

His only warning was when Winston’s ears abruptly perked up and the dog lifted his head to look towards the door.

 _Knock, knock_.

Alex sighed in relief when Winston barked and eagerly wagged his tail.  Silently thanking Kincade for returning to collect at least one of the dogs, he slid back down onto the couch and leaned against the armrest.  “Come in,” he said after a moment, brow furrowing when he wondered why Kincade hadn’t just entered the room like he did last time.

His breath caught when the door opened and James Bond entered the room, pulling off black gloves as blue eyes immediately sought him out. His mud-splattered jeans and a black jumper stood out in sharp contrast to Skyfall’s high-class interior décor, but the agent didn’t seem to notice or care.  Alex’s heart sank just a little, however, when the momentary relief in James’s eyes disappeared behind a mask, and the agent closed the door behind him before approaching Alex. “How are you feeling?” James finally asked, his gaze sliding from Alex to the two dogs even as Winston abruptly jumped up to greet him.

“Much better, thank you.” If MI6 hadn’t told James about what had happened, then Kincade would have mentioned something when he arrived here.  Alex shifted nervously in his seat before he added, “I didn’t mean to intrude into your home, I, um, didn’t really pay attention when I got here, and Kincade wouldn’t let me leave after.  I can leave once Ilsa gets off of me.”

James shrugged as he sat down on the couch, catching Alex off-guard at the proximity.  “The way I see it, the house is big enough for the two of us to live here.  I’m also not quite ready to head back to London, it’s a bit of a drive for one person,” he said, glancing at Alex even as he nudged Ilsa back for more room.  Then he abruptly leaned forward and brushed some of Alex’s hair away from his forehead first, and then his temple. Confused by the sudden intimacy, Alex jerked away from James, who stood and took a few steps back with his hands in the air and a slight expression of dismay and apology. "I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking," he said finally, ducking his head as he turned towards the fireplace. "He did quite a number on you," he added after a moment, turning back to look at Alex with sharp blue eyes.

No need to identify the ‘he’ in the sentence. Alex looked away, aware that there were injuries from that night that James would never see.  “He seemed rather convinced that my death would ensure his survival, he said you’d be too distracted to hunt him down,” he said quietly, trying to glance at James through the fringe of his hair. “Likened it to a Vesper Lynd and Quantum.”

James slowly exhaled, moving slowly as he approached the opposite end of the couch again.  “He clearly doesn’t remember what I did with Quantum, I spent a good month methodically hunting each leader down,” he said, glancing at Alex, who raised an eyebrow. “But as I mentioned before, I’m not ready to head back to London just yet, just give me a few days to recuperate since I left the same day I arrived from Sydney.”

Alex frowned.  “You’re not coming with me.”

James arched an eyebrow, and then closed his eyes, shaking his head as he turned away from Alex for a moment. He hesitated, and then turned back to Alex, something unreadable yet Alex instinctively knew to be non-threatening in his eyes. "I would like to accompany you back to London, if only in case you get into trouble again," he said quietly, tapping his hand against his thigh in several beats; Ilsa perked up a moment later and with a soft bark, she stood up and jumped off the couch, avoiding Alex's legs. "I can get you to MI6--"

“And how do I know that MI6 is any better?” Alex snapped, his sharp voice startling Winston into moving.  Quickly snatching the opportunity to escape, Alex hoisted himself onto the couch armrest and jumped down to the carpet as Winston whined at the sudden loss.  Squaring his shoulders in an attempt to appear threatening enough to be taken seriously while still wearing pajamas, he said, “The way _I_ see it, I was either a freelancer who was ‘convinced’ to steal the Riddler’s data, _or_ I was an MI6 employee who was cut off not too long after because, according to Reardon, I got someone killed and someone else _almost_ killed.” Picking up the laptop, he said, “Personally, I’m more inclined to go with the freelancer option since I don’t explicitly _remember_ working for MI6-”

“I'm not going to deny that someone died and someone else _almost_ died under your watch, but that is the nature of the work at MI6. They knew it, you knew it, I know it. You tried your best, that is what matters,” James interrupted, moving to stand to the side of the door to the room. Alex took a step back when he spotted James tensing for a moment before the agent said, “But, yes, you did work for MI6, you were in Technical Services.” He smirked before tilting his head almost contemplatively. “MI6’s version of the IT department,” he clarified, noting Alex’s confused expression.  “And you were bloody _brilliant_ at it, you thrived in that environment,” he said, reaching down to snag Ilsa's collar in one hand as she tried to scratch the door.

 _The Universal Exports profile._   “Then why didn’t MI6 approach me after I left the hospital?  I could have relearned everything, I could have come back.” Alex demanded, swallowing back the guilt and hurt.  He tilted his head as another thought occurred to him, and then he made eye contact with James before he asked, “Or was it easier to replace me?  Was I _really_ that replaceable, or did I fuck up _that_ much?"

James studied him for a moment, and Alex could see indecision warring in his eyes. Bond then leaned against the wall next to the door, resting his head against the wall as his grip tightened slightly on Ilsa's collar for a brief moment before he let her go and reached for the doorknob. "It was the boss's call. Our boss," he finally said, opening the door to let Ilsa out. He stepped aside to avoid Winston barreling into his knees, and then looked up at Alex. "I still have no final say in what happens, and even if I could ignore him and do what I want, there is still your would-be killer at large."

Alex stared at him, aware that this could be another ploy on MI6’s part as he felt chills down his arms at the mention of Reardon.  “Then, if I worked there, chances are likely that we would have met, correct?” he asked quietly.

James didn’t hesitate.  “That is correct, we saw each other every day I was in,” he said, watching Alex carefully.  “I was out of town frequently, but you were the first to greet me each time I came back, regardless of how the trip went.”

“All right then, if we saw each other every day, then why did you give me an alias when we first met in the art gallery?” Alex asked, feeling a strange sense of triumph as James managed to catch himself from visibly reacting to the question.

“You remembered my designation as double-oh seven,” James countered calmly, mask firmly in place now.

Alex didn’t mention that it had been a slip of the tongue.  “Yet you persisted with the alias.  _Why?_ ” he pressed, taking a few steps towards James, primarily to see if James would react and block his escape route, but also to intimidate James into giving him an answer.

Instead of immediately replying, James instead ran a hand through his own hair, pacing agitatedly in place for a few seconds. Alex got the distinct impression that the conversation was moving out of James's depth, but in that moment, he didn't care. “You were in pain, remember Alex? I took you to another room, got you tea from the café later.  I _hate_ seeing you in pain, especially if I caused it however indirectly. I had no idea how you would react to hearing my real name when a single letter caused you to break down," he said finally, turning back to Alex as he paused a few feet away from the still-open door. He took a few deep breaths and another step away from the door, glancing out across the grounds outside the windows. Then he inclined his head towards Alex. "Is there any chance I can ask for a little time to talk about London? If not here, then somewhere that you would consider neutral that the two of us can both reach?" he asked, meeting Alex's steady gaze with one of his own.

Alex frowned, momentarily torn between leaving Skyfall and staying in place, especially since even though the master of the house was now back, he still didn't feel that he had the energy to leave. “Forty-eight hours. We can talk here, just not today," he said after a few moments, folding his arms across his chest. 

James nodded, letting out a shaky exhale that he probably didn't think Alex could see. "Thank you," he said, glancing at Alex as he stepped back to finally acknowledge an enthusiastic Winston. "I suppose if you need anything, let Kincade or me know," he added after a moment, inclining his head towards Alex before turning to follow Winston out into the hall.

Alex hesitated, and then nodded, glancing down at his pajamas a moment later. He grimaced when he remembered that he’d pilfered this set out of the bureau in the master bedroom. “Um, one last thing. The pajamas. I’ll wash these and return them,” he said, his words causing James to step to the side as he turned back around to face Alex. 

“Don’t worry about it, help yourself,” James replied when Alex took a few tentative steps forward.

“Won’t the owner mind?” Alex asked carefully, glancing back at James; the pajamas, along with the other clothes he’d borrowed, were slightly too big for him, but were the closest to his size in comparison to James’s own clothes on the other side of the master bedroom. Two people had lived here, someone had lived here with James at some point, and Alex was intruding on their privacy.

James shook his head.  “My partner’s a little lost right now, I’m waiting for him to come home like he promised before he left,” he said, brow furrowing as he studied Alex’s frame. Then he sighed, and shook his head. “He won’t mind, trust me. I can pick up a few things in your size, if you want,” he offered, ignoring both Ilsa and Winston who had returned and were now butting heads against his legs. 

Alex hesitated, and then he nodded. "Thank you, I can pay you back," he replied.

James silently nodded before ushering the dogs down the hall and out of sight.

 _Definitely a mark_.

It was embarrassing enough that he’d unwittingly kissed James a week ago.  Now that he knew James had a partner, Alex would be more careful of personal boundaries. In turn, this meant that prior to the accident, whatever memories Alex had of James meant that he’d been a mark, or James had been cheating.  If he’d been an MI6 employee, that meant it was the latter, and Alex had no interest in wrecking an otherwise stable household.

Hoping that James wasn’t a light sleeper, Alex headed back to his rooms, wondering how the hell he was going to get through the next forty-eight hours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your patience, this was a tricky one to write...


	23. Chapter 23

_Where the hell is it?_

Brow furrowed in concentration, Alex dug through the bureau drawers in search of the damned memory stick that he’d discovered missing less than ten minutes ago.  Trying not to panic—his car keys had mysteriously vanished within two hours of his arrival a few days ago and Alex suspected that the MI6 laptop was next—he slammed the bureau drawers with a little more force than necessary, reaching out to steady one of the rocking decorative objects on top of the chest. Stepping over a sleeping Ilsa, he returned to the guest bed where the contents of his battered computer bag lay scattered across the bedspread. Two laptops—his own and the one he stole—along with Reardon’s Walther PPK and the extra ammunition he’d stolen from the cleverly-hidden armory downstairs in the gun room. He also had a few clothes he’d purchased on the drive north with what little funds he’d had, but they were not warm enough for the Scottish cold, and he’d taken to wearing them underneath the borrowed clothes. 

Not seeing the memory stick amongst the items, Alex swore to himself and decided that risks be damned, MI6 was going to be short one special agent if Alex found the memory stick in James’s possession.

Taking a few steps back from the bed, he dropped to all fours before lying down flat on his stomach.  Lifting the blankets, he quickly scanned underneath the bed for any sign of the memory stick.  He couldn’t remember what he’d done with it, just that he’d hid it somewhere safe when James first arrived.  Gritting his teeth in frustration, he started to sit up again when a flash of white caught his eye.  Alex tilted his head in curiosity before letting go of the blankets to better reach the object, the paper-thin material nearly slipping through his fingers before he managed to get an awkward grip and pull it out. He frowned when he realized it felt like a photograph, and then turned it over in his hands.

The image was of a very familiar woman; it took Alex a few seconds to recognize a carefree Alana Stafford.  She wore a skirt and blouse with a loose sweater tied around her waist, and she was leaning against the railing of Westminster Bridge, Alex could see Westminster Palace behind her. She wasn’t looking directly at the camera, instead laughing at someone over the photographer’s— _Alex’s_ —shoulder. Alex couldn’t remember what color her eyes were; the sunglasses she wore continued to conceal them. Hands shaking slightly, he turned the photograph over and found the words _‘Alana – November 30 th, 2012’_ written in his hand on the back.

 _Almost a month after Skyfall_.

Alex pressed two fingers to his temple as he unwitting recalled that day. The air had been so cold that he’d nearly gotten frostbite trying to handle the small camera with fingerless gloves. Her laughter had been a refreshing change to the cold tones of investigative committees as the Ministry of Defence tried to find a scapegoat for the disastrous Operation Skyfall. Alex had known, even before the dust settled, that he had the most precarious position and would be targeted first even though he’d still been in London when the MI6 director died-

“Alex?”

At the sound of the bedroom door opening, Alex slid the photograph into a trouser pocket and stood up right as James walked in with a large box, Winston following him.  He looked better and more alert than Alex _felt_.  “Is there something you wanted?” Alex asked after a moment, stepping aside to let James closer to the bed, keeping an eye on the agent’s hands since he was in close proximity with Alex’s belongings.

“Wanted to deliver this,” James said, setting the box down as he tilted his head to catch Alex’s eye.  “How did you sleep last night?” he finally asked, a faint inflection of concern barely audible in his voice. Alex almost took a step back when they made eye contact, finding himself unable to look away; a few centimeters and Alex felt as though he could close the distance between them.

He almost did on impulse.

“As well as can be expected, circumstances being what they are.  I was warm enough, if that’s what you’re wondering,” he replied instead, well aware that James most likely heard him the night before.  Hell, Alex had woken himself up again to a distressed Ilsa, but he’d hoped that the closed door would muffle the sounds and allow James to sleep in peace. The still-warm cup of Earl Grey that he found right outside his door when letting Ilsa out earlier that morning proved otherwise. Swallowing nervously, he nodded to the box and asked, “What’s in there?  Nothing explosive?” He turned to James, forcing a smile to convince James and himself that he was all right. “A few of your colleagues warned me about your penchant for explosions.”

“Clothes. I went out and got a few items last night, and I’m well aware of how cold it can get here in the winter,” James said, opening the box lid to show Alex. “Then there’s also this,” he said, procuring the missing memory stick from a trouser pocket. “Found it in the drawer of the bedside table opposite mine in the master bedroom,” he said, not bothering to hide a faint grin when Alex snatched the memory stick from his open palm and stuffed it into a pocket.  “If it helps, I didn’t look at it, I don’t exactly have a laptop readily on hand,” he added as Alex pulled out a cardigan from the box. He hesitated, and then added, "I understand that you want to pay, but these can be a gift, especially if you're trying to save for the immediate future."

“If you had a laptop, I’d be more worried about the laptop’s condition than if you read the data,” Alex replied dryly as he studied the hauntingly familiar cardigan.  It was mustard-yellow with dark blue and red stripes running from either side of the collar, one side covering the zip. He bit back the sudden urge to laugh at the thought of money; he'd forgotten that he was most likely dismissed from his job and only source of income after Holton, but he knew his reasons for refusing the 'gift'. Resisting the temptation to slip the cardigan on, he ran the fabric between his fingers before he said softly, "No, I will pay. Thank you, though, for the offer."

James nodded, shifting in place for a moment. “I didn’t want you to catch cold, it gets drafty here. Especially at night,” he said as Alex set the cardigan down and pulled out another, thicker jumper in one hand and a long-sleeved shirt in the other.  “Ilsa can only keep you so warm, and you’ll feel the difference once you put on something that fits.” He was quiet for a moment before he said, “Let me know if anything is too big or small, I can get a replacement that will fit.  Is there anything else you need?”

Alex paused, glanced warily at James, and then said, “No, I think I should be fine for now.”  Setting the jumper on the bedspread, he asked, “Where will you be if, ah, an issue comes up?"

James smirked before he said, “Armory, Kincade wanted to show me some rifles he picked up in Edinburgh while I was away. We may take them outside later to test them, and if we do that, we might let the dogs out for a little while.”

Alex made a face, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “Walther not enough, or are you trying not to lose it and are settling for something else while here?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. He knew which rifles James was talking about; instinct and curiosity once drove him to test the weight of a few, only raising two to a firing position as they were the only ones that felt ‘right’ on Alex’s shoulder.  None of the rifles, however, were practical for close-quarters combat, and Alex knew without looking that James already had a weapon on his person.

“The Walther I have is the same one I’ve carried for almost a year now,” James said, tilting his head slightly as Alex turned his attention back to the box. He still sensed James step closer, not to the point where he was crowding Alex but close enough. “But yes, I am trying not to lose it, it’s all I have left.”

“May I?”

Wordlessly, James pulled the gun out of its holster and turned it over so that he offered it handgrip first. Alex carefully took it in hand, noting the three green lights along the top as he formed his hand around the familiar grip.  Aiming it away from James, he lifted it a moment to examine down the barrel before lowering it again. “You seem to be doing a pretty good job of keeping it intact so far,” he admitted finally, turning it over in his hands.  He glanced at James, and then asked, “Any problems when you fire it?”

“No. Want to test it yourself outside in the firing range?” James offered.

Alex shook his head as he handed the Walther back to James.  “If I recall correctly, you’re technically working right now, and I suspect your quartermaster _and_ director will not approve of you wasting ammunition just to have an excuse to get into my personal space or seduce me.  Or anyone else, for that matter,” he said before turning to hunt down a shirt and a pair of trousers in the box.

“What they don’t know can’t hurt them,” James said, leaning on the bed next to where Alex stood.

“Every time you fire that gun, you lose a bullet.  A sharp reduction in ammunition on hand, along with gunpowder marks on the barrel will tell them _everything_ ,” Alex said, smacking James’s hand aside as the agent tried to purposely close the box while Alex still searched through it. “Worst comes to worst, I’ll tell them myself,” he said, turning and nearly bumping noses with James.

“No, you won’t,” James easily countered, smirking when Alex raised an eyebrow. “You’ll be too enamored of me to tattle at that point.”

Alex raised a brow despite himself. “Enamored or not, I know that if I were your quartermaster, I would certainly disapprove,” he retorted, crossing his arms across his chest.

“Because I was wasting ammunition, or it wasn’t your ‘personal space’ I was trying to seduce my way into?” James asked with a straight face, only breaking into laughter when Alex gaped at him in shock before playfully smacking his shoulder, forcing him back onto the bed. Alex didn’t see the hand until James grasped his forearm and pulled him down onto the bed as well, earning a squawk of surprise.  Alex reached out to brace himself, his hands landing on either side of James’s head as he abruptly came face-to-face with James.  “See? I don’t need guns or ammunition to get into your personal space,” he said, grinning when Alex accidently bumped foreheads with him.

“True, and it doesn’t stop you with the touching anyway,” Alex said even as he tugged free from James’s loose grip. “And if you don’t let me up, you’ll first get my glasses in your face, and then quite possibly something worse next," he warned.

“I’ve had worse in my face, trust me.” James promptly released him as though burned, even going as far as to nudge him forward so that Alex could regain his balance.  “Everything from explosions, shrapnel, and weapons of all kinds have been in my face, but glasses wouldn’t be a new one either.  A harmless one, yes, but-”

_Brring! Brring!_

Alex flinched at the ringing mobile, reflexively reaching for his nonexistent one even as he watched as James sat up and pulled out his own to examine the caller ID.  “Friend of mine, I should get this,” he said, glancing at Alex, who raised an eyebrow.  “You might know him already, Trevelyan?  I might have done something he wouldn’t appreciate before I left, but I told him not to call unless it was critical,” he explained, and Alex hesitated, unsure of whether to believe James or not.  Standing up, James hesitated, and then stepped towards the door, saying, “I’ll be downstairs if you need anything.”

Alex nodded, watching in silence as James left with Winston padding after him.  He then shooed Ilsa out as well so he could change in peace, well aware that she would most likely hover outside his bedroom door until he came out again.

He didn’t realize he was smiling to himself until he pulled Alana’s photo out of his pocket, and he frowned. He had no idea how a personal photo of _his_ friend wound up all the way out here at Skyfall, but he suspected that James would not be very forthcoming with answers. Setting the photo down on the bedspread, he continued getting changed as even as he tried to recreate the timeline in his head.

His last days of university had been in April of 2012, immediately after which the blanks started.  According to Evan, the university dare that led to Alex’s hacking of MI6 took place in their last week, placing the start of the apparent hunt in the beginning of May, three weeks after which he’d gone to ground (and subsequently caught, if James wasn’t lying about him working for MI6). Operation Skyfall had happened in November, since the photo with Alana had been taken during the ensuing investigation less than a month later.  She then apparently died not long after, presumably somewhere between November 30th and the end of December, the cause of death still unknown to Alex.

It was only six or seven months of a shaky timeline that spanned for three years, but it was better than nothing.

After slipping on the yellow blue-and-red striped cardigan, he reached for the stolen laptop lying on the bedspread nearby. He figured he could use the MI6 archives to fill him in on the blanks of Operation Skyfall.

“Hello, Ilsa,” he said after opening the bedroom door, kneeling slightly to greet an enthusiastic Ilsa.  “Let’s go find your brother, maybe Kincade or James will take the two of you outside today.  God knows you have the energy,” he said, remembering how Winston had nearly knocked him over the night before when rushing into the kitchen for dinner.  He knelt to pick up the empty teacup before Ilsa knocked it over by accident, and gestured for her to go ahead.

Ilsa merely yipped before turning away and padding down the hall, Alex keeping close to her as he adjusted the cardigan. James had been right in guessing that the thicker clothes kept him warmer than the loose ones before…not that Alex would ever admit that aloud. Shaking his head, he continued walking, the thick socks muffling his own footsteps as he approached the main staircase.

He hummed a half-forgotten tune under his breath while following Ilsa down the stairs, something about running out of time as he went in the opposite direction towards the kitchen as she bounded for the entrance hall. In the kitchen, he grimaced when he spotted the coffee mug he’d accidentally prepared earlier that morning with his second cup of tea, but frowned when he reached for it and found it to be empty for once. Pilfering tea was excusable only because he didn’t waste it, unlike every bloody mug of coffee he’d ever made since leaving the hospital.  _Ingrained habit_ , Ella had once suggested in one of the first few therapy sessions.

Evidently, James hadn’t mind. Alex made a mental note to curb this particular habit in the future, to be less of a bother since he was technically a guest.

Placing the empty teacup in the dishwasher, he turned to head back to the living room when he heard a loud _thud_ of something driving into the wall.

Or perhaps it was some _one_ driving something into the wall.

Frowning, Alex slipped into the main hall and headed towards the entrance hall, spotting Ilsa lying on the ground in front of the door between the two rooms.  Winston lay closer to the middle of the hall, but neither James nor Kincade were in sight. Alex paused, and, deciding that he hadn’t heard anything, turned to leave when he heard James snap, “I know what I’m doing, I just need more fucking _time._ ”

“For once in his life, Trevelyan has a valid point. Not telling him will be interpreted as a sign of distrust on your part,” Kincade countered, his voice gruffer than normal.

“I’m still not taking any fucking chances. His life is _still_ on the bloody line; if it’s not the Riddler threatening him, it’s M,” James growled, the harsh sound leaving Alex torn between stepping back in caution and stepping forward to reassure and comfort. “We’ve already had two close calls, and until O’Reilly says otherwise, I’m not doing a damn thing differently. If I talk, he’ll panic, and then that’s when he’ll run, and I don't want to risk him getting hurt even further.”

Alex frowned— _What are you not telling me, James?  What situation?_ —and started to step forward.

_Rrarf!_

Alex flinched at Winston’s shrill yip, swearing softly when he looked down to find that he’d accidentally stepped on Winston’s tail. “Christ, sorry about that, Winston,” he murmured, kneeling at the dog’s side even as Winston rolled onto his back to expose his belly with a soft, pleading whine.  “Didn’t see you there,” Alex murmured, setting the laptop aside as he heard approaching footsteps from the entrance hall.  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw James kneel down on Winston’s other side to examine the tail for a moment.  “I’m sorry, I didn’t see him…” he began even as James started to shake his head.

“He’s fine, he’s had much worse,” James said as he rubbed Winston’s belly a few times before snapping his fingers and then gesturing in Kincade’s direction.  “A good run will help them settle,” he said, moving back as Winston abruptly jumped up and ran to join Ilsa by Kincade. 

Alex nodded uneasily, watching as Kincade’s mouth thinned but otherwise remained silent as he ushered the two dogs out into the entrance hall. “I hope my presence here isn’t causing a problem,” he said quietly as James helped him up before bending down again for the laptop.

“No, Trevelyan called to complain about something I fucked up with before I left London, and Kincade was reprimanding me for it,” James said, winking as he nudged Alex towards the parlor.  “The real question I have is what brings you down here, especially with _that_ ,” he said, nodding towards the laptop in Alex’s hands.

Alex shrugged, choosing to let the topic slide for now.  “I thought I would try to track Reardon down, see if I can predict where he’s going to end up next,” he lied, aware that if he’d mentioned the real reason for his research, James would either sidestep the issue or distract him, especially after the conversation Alex had accidentally overheard.

“You won’t find him.  Trevelyan also said that MI6 lost track of Reardon, something about his trackers disappearing completely.  Which makes sense, since he would have removed any trackers at first opportunity,” James said, shaking his head as he sat down next to Alex on the large couch, their sides almost touching as Alex opened the damaged lid and powered up the computer. “You can try, but I wouldn’t hope too much.”

Alex made a face.  “I never said I was going to use the Quartermaster’s credentials to get back into MI6’s systems unnoticed to find a wayward terrorist,” he said primly as the login screen appeared. “I have another way to track agents.”

“Do you now?” James watched as Alex paused in typing in the password; Alex hadn’t forgotten, not with the ‘hint’ sitting right next to him.  Rather, he needed to take James’s attention off of the login for a moment.

He hesitated, and then rested his hands on the keyboard for a moment.  “When I was hacking into this laptop, I asked about the password hint,” he said finally, remembering the moment clearly; it had been right before everything had gone to hell.  “I remembered a conversation you and I had about the password,” he said, not missing the sudden yet muted hopeful expression on James’s face as the other man carefully watched him. Alex knew he was testing the waters of his memory with a witness for the first time, and it was frankly nerve-wracking.  “You were surprised I needed a hint, but I said I didn’t need one because I had you to remind me.” He looked at James, and then said carefully, “You accused me of getting sentimental…”

“And then you said not to try ‘BOND007’. I remember,” James finished, grinning as Alex pressed the Enter key.  His head snapped back to the laptop when the screens changed, and then he said, “Did you just-”

“Log on while I had you distracted? Yes, I did,” Alex said, pleased at the small victory as he accessed the interactive map program.  He grimaced when he found that the program still focused on Skyfall itself, namely on the dot labeled ‘007’. “Now, tracking Reardon shouldn’t be difficult at all.  Even if Q-Branch re-injected new trackers after the loss of the computer to prevent potential intelligence leaks, they never got around to deactivating the emergency set that someone had ordered.  I can locate eight of the nine double-oh agents and all of the top MI6 administrators except for your quartermaster,” he explained, preening slightly at James’s impressed expression. “Now, according to the notes I found in the records, there were two sets of trackers in every agent: the obvious one, and the failsafe.  Someone was _very_ concerned about your safety if he or she went this far with the trackers, and most likely didn’t inform you of the second set so you could truthfully deny all knowledge of its existence under interrogation.”

“Which means Reardon doesn’t realize we still have him on radar… _brilliant_ ,” James said, traces of excitement creeping into his voice as Alex typed ‘001’ into the search engine.  “How did you find all this?”

“Kincade wouldn’t let me out of bed for a while when I first arrived, I wanted something to do so I poked around on here,” Alex said, settling back when 001’s dot appeared.  Pointing to the screen, where the marked dot was heading east out of Paris, he said, “There’s your missing terrorist.”

James remained quiet for a moment as he studied the screen.  “We’ll have to get this program back to Q-Branch, immediately,” he said after a moment.

“You do know it would be easier to take care of Reardon ourselves?  Too much red tape if we went to get permission,” Alex replied, frowning at the thought of MI6.  He glanced at James and said, “Reardon can’t afford witnesses, so he’ll come after me if I let it slip that I still have the data _and_ I’m back in London.  You ambush him from behind, and that’s the end of that.”

“M will want him alive for interrogation, although he may not mind if Reardon is roughed up a little beforehand,” James said, frowning slightly when he turned to Alex.  “Would you necessarily have to be the bait, or can we just use a fake memory stick and plant it somewhere?” he asked carefully.

“No, he’d want to finish me off if he still thought there was a chance he could get to me before MI6,” Alex said, standing up to face James.  “If I say that I have the memory stick, and he sees me on my own, he’ll think I haven’t spoken to a MI6 agent yet.  That’s to our advantage, since he doesn’t know you found me here,” he added, thinking quickly, silently confused about James’s reluctance to use him as bait. He looked back down at James. “Well?”

James quietly regarded him for a moment before he said, “Fine, I’ll help you.  But only with one request of my own."

Alex stiffened at the implication. “I’m not having sex with you,” he blurted, crossing his arms as he took parade rest in front of James.

“Good, because I wasn’t going to ask. My only request is that tomorrow, when we sit down to re-negotiate our next step, you explain to me why the idea of MI6 is so abhorrent to you,” he said, leaning back in his seat, the exhaustion visible in his features as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I just want to understand, that's all."

 _Bastard_. Alex, for the life of him, could not figure out what James was playing at now. It was, in theory, a small request, but not one that Alex was initially prepared to grant. He had hoped that with Reardon’s capture and the Riddler’s lack of activity, he could have resumed his normal life with as little MI6 interference as possible.  “I don't understand why you wish to know that, being MI6 and all. It doesn't affect you in any way, and I have my reasons that involve consequences that I would be paying for a long time,” he said stiffly after a few moments.

James shrugged before stretching, not bothering to react from the numerous, faint cracks from his spine.  “I hadn't meant it that way, I have no interest in dealing with arrests or anything like that,” he replied calmly as he started to leave the parlor.  “And, as you astutely observed earlier, I _am_ still technically working right now,” he said over his shoulder as he paused in the doorway.  “I’ll be outside within shouting distance of the manor with Kincade, doing target practice. You’re welcome to join us,” he added before leaving the room.

Annoyed, Alex took a few, slow steps back, and then squared his shoulders and snatched up his laptop. Mindful that James  _could_  either slip free himself to hunt Reardon down or alert one of his own to go in his stead, Alex figured he still had a little time to at least figure out a method to outsmart James and get his way; hadn’t he done it at least once before?

Now it was just a matter of figuring out that method.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spark Notes version: These past few weeks hadn't been conducive to the 'light, happy fluff' I wanted to give you. If it's any comfort, I've already started working on Ch. 24, and will have that out soon ;)
> 
>  **Just a quick note:** There is a brief depiction of a panic attack in the next chapter. If you would like to skip that, read up until 'She's going to shoot him' and skip immediately to the phrase "Well out of sight".


	24. Chapter 24

Although defeat became inevitable, Alex was determined to go down fighting.

He was sitting in a sea of printed maps of London on his bed, in warmer pajamas with Ilsa curled up at the foot of the bed. Half of the safe houses were ones he’d lifted out of MI6 records and saved to the desktop, the other half he relied on his instinctual memory, marking them as he remembered them. As he carefully marked each location on the map in red pen, he weighed the pros and cons of each safe house. Without James, he’d had to alter a few details to better suit his escape after trapping Reardon, but he kept returning to the problem of not having sufficient time for running back to the main door to lock it behind Reardon.  The sniper could easily escape once he realized it was a trap; which safe houses had Reardon used before and would recognize?

Alex nearly stabbed the laptop in frustration with the pen.

He felt rather than saw James appear in the bedroom door.  Without looking up from his notes, he said, “Unless you’re here to tell me that you’ve changed your mind about helping me, you may kindly leave before I throw a pen at you.”

“Would it explode?” James quipped as he entered the room, sitting down at the foot of the bed next to Ilsa as he began to scratch the top of her head.

Alex snorted as he lifted an old map borrowed from the study to compare it with a digital version, trying to check for accuracy.  “Lucky for you, I left the schematics for an exploding pen back home.  Found them in a box when I first unpacked everything in my new flat,” he said, making a few marks for the safe houses near MI6. Absently setting down the map back down on Ilsa’s stomach, he started to reach for another without looking when he only found empty duvet underneath his fingers.  Scowling, he looked up to see James examining his notes.  “Why _are_ you here?” he asked, brow furrowing when he realized James had never truly stated his purpose for being there.

“I wanted to make sure that you were all set for the night, I’m exhausted from chasing Winston all day so I was going to head to bed earlier than usual,” James said as Winston came padding into the room as though summoned.  “Didn’t want him to bring any birds into the house, we’d be finding feathery carcasses weeks later,” he added, moving aside so Winston could jump onto the bed.

Alex nodded before he said, “I’m fine, thank you.  I’ll probably go to bed soon, just wanted to finish this up first.” Although technically not a lie, Alex still didn’t know when he was going to finish if at all… but James’s expression was one of disbelief.  “You don’t believe me?” he asked, twirling the pen in his fingers.

“No, not really,” James said, smirking as he easily caught the pen that Alex threw at him in a fit of pique. Alex swore a second later when he realized he’d thrown his only excuse to stay up, and lunged after the pen, narrowly avoiding the laptop as his fingertips barely brushed the edge of James’s Royal Navy T-shirt as the agent swiftly moved out of reach. “Perhaps next time,” James said, grinning as he pocketed the pen.

Alex scowled as he picked himself up. “That’s all right, I don’t need it,” he said, thinking quickly as Ilsa grunted unhappily at having been woken up. “I just need the laptop to do any real damage, hell, I bet I can do more damage on the laptop than you can do in a year on the field,” he said, bristling when James snorted in apparent disbelief.

“Do it before your first cup of Earl Grey, and then I’ll be impressed,” James said quietly before he turned to leave.  “Good night Q, and do try to get _some_ rest,” he said over his shoulder as he left the room, Winston padding out after him.

Alex’s head snapped up at the title even as he automatically replied in the same patronizing tone, “Good night Bond, and do try to stay out of trouble for once.” The ensuing _snap_ of the door and silence echoed oddly in Alex’s chest, as though he just realized he’d been expecting a response of some sort.

Gritting his teeth in frustration and biting back the urge to go out and follow James, he leaned forward and powered down the laptop, typing in a few commands to secure the computer.  Swearing under his breath when the attempt failed, he instead locked it back under the initial password--he was still fairly confident that James still didn't know the password--and then closed the damaged laptop and carefully placed it in the drawer of the bedside table.  Ilsa made a sleepy snuffle as Alex gathered the scattered papers and placed them back into the drawer. 

He paused when he felt his fingers brush the familiar surface of the photograph he’d found earlier and placed on top of the table. He wondered how much of his personal belongings MI6 confiscated and hid away after the accident, and more importantly, _why_ had they felt it a necessity to do so.  Then he set his glasses down on the nightstand and switched the lamp off, slipping underneath the covers as he tried to settle down. Ilsa shifted around as well, settling down in the middle of the bed with her back against Alex’s, as she had done every night.  Alex closed his eyes and smiled softly when he felt the comforting weight against his back.

He must have dozed off; he wakes to creaking floorboards of something—some _one_ pacing the hall outside.  Measured, calculated steps, as one would find with a predator.   _Or an assassin_.

“James?” he whispers, trying to remain still even as his heart starts thudding painfully in his chest.  When there isn’t a response, he whispers louder, _“James.”_

Quietly, he slips out of bed and into the hall, wincing as the floor creaks under his bare feet.  He should have known he wasn’t safe at Skyfall, should have known that Reardon would somehow find them and now James would pay the price for his error.  “James?” he calls again softly, stomach twisting in discomfort when he realizes that James’s bedroom door, usually closed at night, is wide open and dark inside. Winston is in there somewhere, making soft whimpers and sending a chill up his spine.  “James?” he tries again, approaching the stairs despite better judgment.  Wishing he’d thought to bring his gun, he turns the corner and stops at the top of the stairs, his eyes adjusting to the sight below him.

James is on all fours, breathing heavily as blood seeps from a nasty cut above the brow.  He recognizes James’s torn uniform as one saved for MI6 stealth missions, and tries to quell the rising panic in his chest.  “ _James_ ,” he whispers, using that moment to slip from his hiding place even as he makes eye contact with the agent, whose eyes widen before mouthing something, brow furrowed in concern.  He ignored James— _I’m close_ —as he moves down the stairs, catching sight of the lithe figure moving from the shadows of the main hall a second later.  Too graceful to be male, yet familiar enough to make him hesitate.

_She’s going to shoot him._

He doesn’t know how he knows this, but it’s enough for him to shout “ _James!_ ” even as the gunman turns to fire.  In another situation, he may have been able to dodge, but his old parka— _where did that come from?_ —tangles in his legs and he falls- “ _James-”_

_WHACK!_

Alex jerked awake the moment his head made contact with the hardwood floor of the guest bedroom with panic surging in his chest when he realized that he was still _trapped_ in unfamiliar, blurry darkness.  “ _James_!” he shouted with as much force as he could, struggling to free himself so he could find and save James. He dimly heard Ilsa barking amidst a wheezing sound as his chest constricted painfully, head throbbing with a dull ache as he became further pinned. He nearly choked in fear when he heard thundering footsteps drawing close to his bedroom door. Bedroom. He was still in his bedroom.  Where he wasn’t defenseless.  Terror and anger drove him to reach for the Walther hidden underneath the pillow, fingers closing around the handgrip right as the doorknob rattled.  Knowing that a measly lock could not keep Reardon out, Alex pulled the hammer back and aimed the Walther directly at the intruder’s chest right as the door opened.

Struggling to bring his breathing back under control, Alex kept the gun aimed at the blurry silhouette against the light in the hall.  “Who is there?” he demanded, trying to adopt a firm tone despite the panic still thrumming in his veins.  _Show no fear, and regain control of the situation_. “Who are you?” he snapped when there was no immediate reply to his first query. Fingers tensing around the trigger, he moved the gun to keep it in line with the silhouette as the figure knelt. “Who the _fuck_ are you?” he snarled after a moment.

“Alex, it’s just me, James,” a painfully familiar voice said as the figure inched closer, evidently disregarding the barrel pointed straight at his face.  “You’re safe here, at Skyfall.  It’s all right, you’re safe-”

“Shut up,” Alex snapped, tensing even further until the figure stopped.  The Riddler played games; Alex knew he played games to fuck around with people’s minds. What if this was another game, using James as bait to convince Alex to lower the gun? He nearly threw up when he remembered the image of James in the main hall, bleeding.  “What did you do to him?  _Where is James?_ I swear, if you hurt him to make him say those things-” he snarled, risking a glance away from the figure to determine if there was someone else lurking in the hall outside.

“I’m fine Alex.  Just put the gun down, your glasses on, and talk to me,” the stranger interrupted softly, drawing Alex’s attention back so Alex could reaffirm his aim.  “You’re safe, I’m fine, we’re all right…” he said softly, the warmth and familiarity registering enough for Alex to fractionally lower the gun. “You’re safe, I’ve got you…”

Alex flinched when he felt familiar hands wrap around his shaking own, and did not resist when the stranger— _James_ —calmly forced the gun down and away. Tremors shook his body as James pried the Walther out of his hands, the faint _click_ as he switched the safety back on, and the sound of metal against wood as James slid the gun across the floor away from them. A fainter clink of metal against wood, and James pressed the glasses into Alex’s palm before pulling Alex against a warm chest.  Then he leaned back and helped slip the glasses on, resting his hands on Alex’s shoulders after. Alex blinked as his world swam back into focus, dimly aware of James wrapping his hands around his own to quell the shaking. He felt bile rising up his throat as he realized what he’d almost done.  “Oh God… I almost shot you,” he whispered in numb horror.

“Mm, but you didn’t.  Which is more than you can say about a few MI6 agents,” James said, his forehead resting gently against Alex’s.

Alex frowned.  “I thought you were shot by one agent,” he said, suddenly remembering the obituary.  Shaking his head, he admitted, “It was Turkey, right? I found your obituary on the BBC website.”

“And here I thought we’d gotten rid of everything that pertained to that incident in Istanbul, a dead man can’t exactly own a flat,” James said, shifting so that he was next to Alex.  He tugged ineffectively at the duvet that remained firmly tangled around Alex’s legs.  “But Trevelyan once shot me in the leg on accident.  I accidentally hit him back on the upper arm a couple weeks later. We just didn’t tell Eve about those incidents,” he added as he allowed Alex to lean forward and disentangle himself. “Come on, let’s go downstairs and see if there’s tea that will calm you down.  If you’re up for it, maybe you can tell me what was bothering you.”

Alex frowned as he pulled himself up, unsure if he’d witnessed another memory or a real nightmare.  He turned to ask James something, but stopped when he realized that James was examining the photograph of Alana. “Familiar photo?” he asked casually.

“Familiar subject.  I wasn’t with you that day,” James replied, handing the photograph back to Alex.

“Where were you?” Alex asked, the curiosity getting the better of him as he followed James out into the hall.

“Nowhere nearby.”

Alex frowned, but wasn’t given another opportunity to continue the conversation as James walked well ahead. He ran to catch up, and neither man spoke another word until they arrived to the kitchen, where Alex settled at the island while James got the kettle going with Alex’s favorite chamomile tea.  Alex’s fingers itched to type something, but settled for scratching Ilsa’s head instead as she hovered around his legs. After a moment, he finally stated, “You said you knew Alana.” _Not in as many words, but close enough for me._

“Not well, but she and I crossed paths a few times.  You introduced us. She was the American ambassador’s daughter, correct? Lucas Stafford?” James said, glancing at Alex for confirmation.

“Yes.  She also had a twin brother, Robert. They grew apart when she went to school in London and he stayed in the States to study computer science.” Alex hugged himself to ward off the night chill before he asked, “How did she die?  My friend, Evan, said she got mixed up with MI6.  I don’t know how to explain this, but I got the feeling that she died not long after I took her picture.”

James was quiet for a few moments, keeping his back to Alex.  “She did tangle with MI6, but you talked her down at the last minute.  Unfortunately, she was caught in the crossfire when her rivals showed up,” he said, glancing back at Alex.  “You did what you felt was right, and handled the rest of the mission with a level head.”

Alex nodded, stomach twisting for a moment when he recalled the faceless gunman holding James at gunpoint. “What did she want?” he asked.

“You understood her demands the best, you explained it to me once a long time ago,” James replied, turning back as the kettle began to whistle.  “She died in December, that much I _do_ remember…”

“And then that man from Barcelona came to power next, I remember,” Alex said, grinning despite himself as he accepted the tea from James.  Curling a protective hand around the mug—the Scrabble one he’d used earlier in his visit, he’d thought it off-limits once James arrived—he added, “He became a recurring problem, I can’t remember his name.  I just remember that there were running jokes about you, him, and resurrection…”

“M wanted to figure out what it would take to bring him and me down for good,” James said, grinning as he leaned on the counter.  “You’re thinking of Joaquin Ramirez, he took over Silva’s empire after Operation Skyfall. He’s been relatively quiet in the last year or so, M thinks he’s waiting to see how the Riddler handles being a first-time international terrorist.”

Alex hummed in disbelief as he sipped his tea. “I’ll bet you anything that he’s planning something, and just wants MI6 to lower its guard first,” he said, setting the mug down on the counter. “Which one was it then, that held you at gunpoint?” he asked.

James hesitated for the briefest of seconds before he said, “You’ll have to be more specific, I’ve been held at gunpoint far too many times to count.”

“The one time I was there, who was it?”

James frowned as he studied Alex. “Did you remember something?” he asked quietly.

“I think it was an ordinary nightmare, I thought Reardon had somehow found us here, using you to lure me in,” he replied, studying James’s blank expression. He didn’t know how well his own poker face held against James, but the agent didn’t seem fooled.

“That situation happened only once, but never after that and _never_ with Reardon.” James hesitated, and then said, “Maybe we should head back to bed now, it’s getting late and you need sleep.”

“Well, I was actually going to start the kettle for some Earl Grey, I figured that since I can't sleep, I'll try to continue working on the Reardon problem. That’s going to take time, so I need to get started,” Alex said, offering a patronizing smile even as James took the empty mug from him.

“It's late,” James said, shrugging with one shoulder as he set the mug in the dishwasher.  “Besides, you’ll need your strength for dealing with me tomorrow, remember?”

“Easy James, just because I don’t remember working for MI6 doesn’t mean I don’t remember how to destroy your credit history,” Alex warned, only half-joking as he slipped out of the chair and steadied himself when his legs nearly gave out from the sudden weight.

“Then why haven’t you?”

“Because I need your cooperation, remember?” Alex countered as he flattened his palm against the side of his leg, tampering down the urge to reach out and squeeze James's fingers to offer silent comfort.  “And maybe I don’t want to,” he added over his shoulder before letting James’s hand go.  “No real challenge either, I can do that in my sleep. But MI6?  I don’t want to be locked out of the networks, not when I know my life depends on it.”

“Why the rush? You can look at the files at your leisure when we return to London,” James pointed out as he followed Alex up the stairs.

Alex laughed, a sharp and foreign sound even to his own ears. “Reardon wants to kill me, he’s already got an advantage. He can predict my actions, but I can’t predict his,” he said bitterly as he paused long enough to let James catch up to him.  “Even now…” he began slowly, recalling the night he’d fled London, “Even now, I don’t understand why I spared his life. Trust me when I saw that I definitely regret it now,” he added, nearly freezing in his tracks at the memory of Reardon kneeling in front of him seconds before he fired the Walther.

“We _were_ wondering about that, given you could have killed him with a headshot…” James said, stopping on the same stair and turning to face Alex.

“It was strange, to be honest. I was angry, he’d just thrown Missy,” Alex said, voice cracking on Missy’s name.  He paused, fighting the familiar burn of loss in his throat.  Loss of Missy, loss of his life prior to the attack, loss of _James_ ; whatever they’d had before evidently didn’t mattered too much to the agent, as James had a home and family.  Alex had no idea how to confirm what he thought he remembered without putting James in an uncomfortable position. “Reardon had just hurt her, I was angry and terrified and I couldn’t fucking kill him,” he said, moving so that he had an excuse to lower his shoulder, let James’s hand slide off. “It was as though it went against everything I knew to kill him,” he said, pausing to catch his breath before he shook his head.  “It’s fucked up, I know, but the shot to his collarbone was a warning, nothing more.”

“It’s not as fucked up as you think,” James replied mildly, catching Alex off-guard.  “One of your duties in MI6 was to bring the double-ohs and all field agents safely home at the end of the day.  It could be that subconsciously, you remembered that enough to not kill him, but thankfully not well enough to completely spare him or worse, hesitate,” he said, moving close enough to place one hand on the railing and a tentative one on Alex’s shoulder.  “One of the shrinks might be able to help you with that,” he murmured, voice almost muffled by Alex’s curls.

 _But if Reardon’s alive, he can still try to kill you for protecting me._ “Well, I suppose you can track him now, you’re welcome for that by the way,” Alex said, gently tugging himself free despite every instinct screaming otherwise.  He started up the last few stairs as he said, “I should go, I can usually go without sleep but I know you need it.” At the top, he started to head down the hall towards his room but a soft cough behind him stopped him.

“Stay with me tonight...it might help ward off nightmares,” James said as Alex turned around to ask him the reason for catching his attention.  “To sleep, nothing else. I’ll stay on top of the duvet,” he added when Alex raised an eyebrow.

Alex hesitated, torn between maintaining peace and wanting a little comfort and peace for once at night. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he said finally, hating himself for saying as much. _You can’t stay, you can’t get attached_ , he silently admonished himself before squaring his shoulders and attempting to leave again.

James didn’t let him go. “You’ll find that I always have plenty of bad ideas,” he said, releasing Alex and taking a few steps back.  “But they more often than not work out in the end, which is why I keep doing them. And you need sleep. You haven’t slept well since arriving here, even Kincade’s mentioned as much.  I’d be willing to wager that you haven’t slept well since mid-December.” He grimaced a moment later as Alex turned sharply to face him, and he could almost see something click in James's eyes even as the agent shook his head. "I'm sorry, I-" he stopped, scowled briefly to himself, and then shook his head again, a flash of pain visible in his eyes. "I'm sorry, that was uncalled for," he said, inclining his head before he started to retreat towards the bedroom on his end of the hall. He paused at the door, and then said, "Good night."

Alex remained silent, watching the agent leave. The temptation for a little comfort, especially since he was still tired and scared, was too much. “All right, one night.  But _I_ sleep on top of the duvet, I’ll take only a light blanket, and _you_ sleep under the blankets.  My way, or I go back to my room,” he said, folding his arms across his chest as James raised a brow.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

James turned on the bedroom lights when they entered the room, keeping the lights turned down.  He remained standing in the doorway as Alex cautiously entered the room, noting the rumpled sheets on the left side, the side closest to the entrance. He slowly sat down on the right as James stepped aside to nudge Winston out of the room.  A quick glance around the room showed that half of the bureau was cleared while the other half had James’s belongings and a picture frame lying face down.  Pens lay scattered across another table near the closet along with a half-gutted mobile all covered in a thin layer of dust. Numerous images from several different cities lined the wall.  A worn book lay face down on James’s bedside table, but Alex knew that James’s Walther lay underneath the pillow.

James hesitated at the door, nudging it open a little more. "I’m going to shut the light off now and get underneath the covers. Are you sure that you don’t want to sleep back in your room?” he asked, blue eyes carefully studying Alex.

 _I want to actually sleep tonight_. “Yes, I am sure,” he said, putting an edge of authority in his voice as though he were admonishing an intern for questioning him.

James put his hands up as though in surrender. “Very well.” 

Alex didn’t move as the bedroom plunged into darkness, the moonlight barely visible through heavy curtains. He listened to James cross the room; cloth whispered against cloth as the bed dipped slightly before leveling out again. Alex felt James tug on the blankets and duvet before slipping underneath and falling still again. Then, after a few moments, James said, “It helps to lie down.”

“I know, I was just waiting for you to get comfortable,” Alex muttered crossly before setting his glasses on the bedside table and lying down, pulling up the blanket that had been folded at the foot of the bed.  Hoping James couldn’t hear him, he scooted a little closer to where he could see James’s outline before settling down again.  He resisted the urge to reach out and touch James’s face; it was risky enough being this close to an assassin.  An assassin with no appreciation for art, if he remembered their first meeting correctly.  He tried to stifle a snort at the memory, tried to cover it up with a cough.

“What’s so funny?” James sounded strangely torn between suspicion, indignation, and hopeful.

“I just remembered our first meeting, in the National Gallery,” Alex said, smiling softly in the dark, knowing James wouldn’t see it anyway.  “A hundred and seventy-three year old painting, and all you had to say about it was ‘a bloody big ship’.”

A sigh.  “Even to this day, I never understood why you chose an _art gallery_ of all places to meet.”

“I told Tanner I was nervous about meeting you for the first time, and wanted a public space that was unobtrusive. He arranged everything else,” Alex said softly, vaguely recalling Tanner’s smug expression when he told Alex that the rendezvous would be in the National Gallery, in front of the _Fighting Temeraire_. At the time, Alex had thought that Tanner planned to ‘punish’ _him_ , but evidently the jab had been for James.  “I think I was too shocked at the lack of appreciation on your part to worry about messing up the spiel on the weapons.” He paused, and then said, “You never brought that gun back, did you?”

“No, a dragon ate it.”

Alex made a face.  “Of course a dragon ate it,” he said without any real bite in his tone as he nudged James lightly with an elbow.  Readjusting the blanket around his shoulders and tucking the edges underneath his body, he stifled a yawn and then murmured, “You must be a black hole in someone’s budget, Mr. Bond.”  He closed his eyes, feeling his heart slow down in a way he hadn’t felt in recent weeks.  He could rest for a little while before the nightmares came back, just rest…

A soft laugh in the dark, and then silence.

Alex reflexively scooted closer before falling asleep again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If the potential problem spot turns out to be a problem, please let me know.


	25. Chapter 25

Alex woke up the next morning in a warm and safe cocoon of blankets.

He lay there for a few moments with eyes still closed as he faintly registered the familiar sensation of someone running their fingers through his thick hair. Stretching languidly against the warm body next to his own, he made a face when he realized that there was a loose hand around his waist. Instead of disentangling himself, however, he snuggled closer to the firm body— _James_ —before burying his face into the crook of James’s neck, settling down again a few moments later. Out of habit, he nuzzled warm skin, nearly choking in surprise at the unexpected pang of deep _longing_ in his chest. They’d cuddled like this before, hadn’t they? Whenever James had been gone for a long time and they needed to reconnect, they would cuddle like this in bed with Missy sitting in the depression in the blankets made from the space between them.

_Does it even matter anymore?_

Seven months, he knew, was a long time for anyone to wait. While Alex was the first to admit that he didn’t remember how he left things with James prior to the accident, he wasn’t about to go searching for false hope, either. Even if he did remember little snatches of slow mornings, soft touches to reaffirm that they were both alive, and whispered conversations late into the night. These were little things he’d never told his therapist in order to preserve his privacy. He honestly wouldn’t blame James for moving on in those seven months, especially if a third outcome became a viable option: they had been together before the accident.

_A mark, a household wrecker, or abandoning a partner._

He still had no idea how to bring that mess up, especially if he wanted to avoid putting James into an awkward position. 

_Is he only here now out of pity?_

Swallowing thickly, Alex furrowed his brow before turning away from the warmth, starting to sit up as he stretched blindly for his glasses. The hand tightened around his waist, his only warning before James carefully pulled him back and let him flop down onto the mattress. His breath caught when he felt James’s hand carefully cup his jaw, and he opened his eyes as he felt James gently brush the skin underneath with a thumb. “James,” he whispered, not entirely sure if he was asking for something or warning James away.

“I’m here.” He felt James shift closer, his forehead resting against Alex’s as he gently shifted positions so that he propped himself above Alex, freeing Alex’s hands and clasping one when Alex tried to reach for him. Kissing the back, he leaned forward so that their chests were nearly touching and whispered, “What do you want?”

Instead of speaking, Alex reached up and placed his other hand around James’s neck before gently pulling him down, brushing a kiss against James’s lips.

He kept his grip loose, in case he’d misread James’s intentions, but the agent remained close, leaving soft kisses in between subtle suggestions of teeth against Alex’s lower lip. Emboldened, Alex leaned forward and caught James in open-mouthed kiss, tugging his hand free and digging fingers into bare skin as James growled deep in his throat before forcing Alex to lie flat again, never once breaking their connection. Alex moaned when he felt James wrap a hand in his hair and tilt his head back to nuzzle underneath his jaw and leave a slow trail of gentle bites down his neck. His breath hitched when he felt a sharp bite to the hollow of his throat, and his eyes fluttered closed when he felt teeth ghosting over his collarbone.

“No.”

He felt James come to a sudden stop, fingers stilling and back muscles tensing underneath Alex’s fingertips. “No?” James repeated carefully, straightening back up so that he looked down at Alex.

“No.” Alex closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. "No," he repeated, frowning before shaking his head. "I...”

“No, you don't have to explain,” James said quietly, leaning away from Alex. He started to lean forward again, as though to press a kiss against Alex's forehead, but caught himself, inclining his head instead before he moved off of Alex. Cold air immediately replaced the warmth as Alex gingerly pushed himself up onto his elbows. He grimaced as he felt a twinge in his bad shoulder, and then carefully rubbed it as the physical therapist had once shown him all those months ago. James refused to meet his gaze when Alex looked up to find him at the bureau, rifling through the drawers for a jumper that he pulled out a few minutes later. "I'll get breakfast going...do you want for anything in particular?" he asked, tilting his head as Alex recognized the effort he was making in attempting to return to whatever they had that passed for normalcy.

Alex shook his head, meeting James's gaze as best he could without his glasses. "No thank you, I'll--"

_Brring! Brring!_

“God _damn_ it,” James growled, crossing the room and reaching for the mobile on the nearby bedside table. “Alec, I swear to God I will kill you _slowly_ if you are wasting my time…” his voice trailed off before he moved away from Alex. His eyes narrowed, and he growled, “The threat still stands… _sir_.”

Sensing the unspoken dismissal, Alex slipped out of bed, fumbling for his glasses before fixing his clothes. He shuffled around the bed and headed out the door, not missing the way James’s eyes followed him out of the room. Ignoring the sinking feeling in his chest, he headed back to his room to start pretending that he didn’t just snog in what was most likely an act of pity on James’s behalf.

After getting dressed and taking care of himself, he headed downstairs, already planning the creation of a back door into the MI6 servers. He didn’t see a point in trying to find evidence to support James’s and Tess’s stories, anything in the servers could be planted evidence. He wanted a look at the updated schematics of the Walther PPK, if there were any, and any information he might need before washing his hands of the whole affair. He hadn’t lied to Tess when he said that he wanted nothing more to do with MI6 once Reardon no longer presented a threat to him. He just knew better than to walk off unprepared, especially if MI6 had any more information on _him_ that he should know about before moving on, a suspicion he still held since there had to be a reason the agency continued to monitor him after the accident.

Alex quietly prepared breakfast with familiar efficiency even though neither of them had nowhere to be in the next hour. He was sipping tea while waiting for the omelets to finish cooking when James finally arrived to the kitchen, hair still wet from a shower. Alex itched to know what M— _Mallory_ —said, but knew better than to directly ask.

“I take it your boss didn’t appreciate the threats?” he asked casually as he worked on an encryption on his personal, undamaged laptop from RIE.

“Of course not. At least he waited until you were gone to start yelling,” James said, sliding into the chair across from Alex. He glanced at the stove with a silent apology in his eyes, and then said, “Thank you, for starting breakfast. As for the boss...he wanted to know when we were planning to return to London. I told him that we were going to figure that out today,” James said, looking meaningfully at Alex.

 _The forty-eight hours_. Alex sighed, but shut the laptop lid and folded his hands on top. “It’s time for the next step, isn’t it?” he asked quietly even as James got up to check on the omelets, remaining at the stove even after he poked at the food.

“We don’t have to start right away, just at some point today,” James said, turning and leaning against the counter with his arms crossed in front of his chest. He raised an eyebrow, and said, “Perhaps as a starting point, maybe explain why the idea of MI6 is so abhorrent to you,” he suggested, reaching without looking for the mug of coffee that Alex had made earlier while waiting for him.

Alex exhaled sharply as he leaned back in his seat with a white-knuckled grip to the edge of the counter. “It’s not that it’s _abhorrent_ …” he began slowly, wondering how best to describe the confusion he _still_ felt about the unusually high level of MI6’s interest. “It’s that I just found out that I had two highly-trained assassins and one sympathetic doctor keeping an eye on me, and for some unexplainable reason, my memories are not matching up with this reality and I am _one_ push away from saying ‘Fuck it all’ and disentangling myself from you lot in order to figure things out at my own pace regardless of Reardon.”

“So it’s a lack of trust?”

Alex shrugged, flinching when the stove timer went off. “I suppose you could say that,” he said, starting to get up and help with breakfast. James waved him back, so he slowly sat back down.

“Welcome to espionage, then,” James said grimly, turning the stove off and moving the pan. He sighed, shoulders sagging slightly, “Alex, I’m not trying to trick you, I’m trying to help you. But I need you to help me too,” he said, glancing at Alex once over his shoulder before turning back to the omelets.

“You are a double-oh agent, aren’t you trained to lie in order to ensure cooperation from your marks?” Alex asked, leaning back in his chair as he watched James spoon an omelet onto a plate.

He thought he saw James's jaw flex. “First, you are not a mark. You never were. Second, the ‘double-oh’ only comes out when someone needs to be murdered in order to ensure national security,” James replied as he set the plate down in front of Alex. “I actually like you, so you’re safe from harm even if M wished it so. If you still want to carry out your little operation in London, now is the time to coordinate MI6 into the process if you wanted to. The Quartermaster and a few others know Reardon very well, and may be able to provide some insights that could make or break the outcome,” he pointed out as he sat down across from Alex.

Alex didn’t respond right away, just poked his food with his fork for a few minutes as James began eating. Accepting MI6 assistance would be a beneficial risk: Alex would get the answers he wanted, but at the moment, he was powerless to defend himself should M change his mind and throw Alex into prison as a safety precaution. He glanced at James, unaware of his gaze, and felt unsure as to where James’s loyalties lay if it came down to Alex or MI6. He tilted his head, studying James and trying to guess. Given that James went through the trouble to follow him all the way to Scotland and held whatever secrets MI6 had entrusted to him, Alex had his money on MI6.

“See something you like?”

 _Shit_. Alex felt his face burn as he straightened in his seat. “Yes, in fact, I do,” he said, keeping his voice steady even as James preened a little. “My _breakfast_ ,” he said, trying to keep a straight face even as James flipped him off before returning to his own food. “The background wasn’t that bad either,” he finished in a softer voice before returning to his omelet. He ate a few more bites before pushing the plate away. “I would like to reprogram Reardon’s Walther today, do you know where the best place in the house might be for that?”

“Gun room, there are tools in the workbench off to the side and a place to plug the laptop in. I’m assuming you’re going to need that too?” James asked.

“Yes, the schematics are on there, the smashed laptop upstairs that is. Worst case scenario is that anyone can fire the Walther once I’m done tinkering with it, but someone back at MI6, I suppose, can check it over once I finish,” Alex said, pushing his chair back to get up. “Just going to reprogram the authorized handprints.”

“I could try it, see if it works for someone other than you,” James offered.

“That could work. Also, could you bring the Walther and the smashed computer down from the guest room? I don’t need to access the MI6 networks for what I’m about to do,” Alex asked, sticking out his lower lip in an impulsive pout.

He squawked and jerked back when James feinted a move as though to reach out towards him. “Your reflexes have gotten better, that’s good to see,” James said, grinning as he stood and picked up his empty plate. “I’ll meet you downstairs.”

Alex nodded, and started to leave when he remembered something. “James?” he asked, mouth going dry with nerves. “About this morning, how would you tell your partn-” he said, suddenly unsure of how to approach the realization that he’d almost shagged with a committed man.

“Close confines with high adrenaline due to life-threatening circumstances, it happens frequently during missions that involve two complete strangers working together,” James said, pausing in the doorway, blue eyes carefully studying Alex. "I did not intend to make you uncomfortable, my apologies, I will take steps to ensure that it won't happen again."

“Right...thank you,” Alex assured him, smiling despite the dull pain he felt in his chest. “It won’t happen again,” he echoed quietly before turning to leave the kitchen and heading down the hall towards the gunroom, focusing his attention to fixing the gun in an attempt to leave Reardon defenseless. He heard James leaving the kitchen a few seconds later, footsteps retreating as he headed up the stairs.

Alex quickly located the indicated workbench as he entered the gunroom; he had noticed it a few days earlier when tentatively exploring the house in an effort to remain on his feet and entertain himself while recovering. Now, he approached the workbench with a sense of relief, silently grateful to be using tools and his hands again. He paused, a soft whine momentarily startling him, but it was only Ilsa padding in after him, bumping her nose against his hip for attention before trying to lick his hand.

Sighing, he knelt so they were eye level and he could gently rub the sides of her head and neck, nearly smiling when she began wagging her tail enthusiastically. “I think I’ve got your owner finally figured out,” he said after a moment, scratching the top of her head. “I just need to know one thing, where we stood before the accident, and then we can all move on again. He can go back to his life, and I can start living mine.” He remembered what he’d told Ella, that he’d thought that any of his friends or a partner would have returned if they’d existed. It hadn’t occurred to him that a partner would have moved on. “James and I clearly had something, I’m not blind, but it doesn’t matter anymore. He misses this other person, and I think I know how to fix that,” he whispered right as he heard the door open. He looked up sharply, reaching for a gun that didn’t exist, but exhaled in relief when he recognized James.  “Christ… James, didn’t you know that in most countries, people _knock_ before entering a room?” he asked, standing up even though Ilsa whined again.

“If this were an office or your private room, then I’d consider it,” James said, smirking as he crossed the room and set down the gun and the wrecked laptop on the workbench surface. “Your requested items, my dear Quartermaster,” he said in a light, teasing tone as Ilsa moved to lie down near the workbench.

Alex stuck his tongue out, careful to stay out of James’s reach. “Thank you, double-oh seven,” he said, mimicking James’s nonchalance before accepting the Walther from James and sitting down at one of two stools. He turned and opened one of the drawers within reach, trying to move without thinking too much about it. He grinned, feeling a strange sort of triumph when he located the small toolkit. “Since I don’t have access to the palm reader and encoding software, I can try to rewire the palmprint sensors to remove the most recent entry. I’m _guessing_ that would be Reardon’s since someone would have had to test it,” he explained, careful to follow the motions that felt familiar. Little wisps of memory crossed his mind as he powered up the laptop and concentrated on the gun. Half-forgotten words teased his consciousness, questions about tea supplies, budget reports, and a particularly annoying Double-O agent that kept hanging around and terrorizing the staff.

He didn’t even realize he was smiling to himself until he wordlessly extended his hand to James, sitting next to him, without looking and said, “Cable in the top drawer, please.”

“Mind sharing what’s so amusing?” James asked as he passed the requested cable over.

“Nothing, just—you used to terrorize the Q-Branch staff, right? Took forever to throw you out, you were very persistent for a double-oh agent,” Alex said, grinning as he carefully pried off the handgrip casing and located the computer chip.

James laughed, the unexpected sound startling Alex a bit. “For what it’s worth, I don’t terrorize them very much anymore, lost interest after a while,” he said as Alex used tweezers to gingerly extract the computer chip from the surrounding wires while leaving it connected. “They’re still difficult to sneak up on, though,” he added while Alex used the cable to connect the card reader—he’d found that in the smaller side drawer—to the laptop.

Had his partner worked in Q-Branch and Alex just dredged up a painful, bittersweet memory? Alex resisted the urge to squirm even as his face burned in embarrassment a bit. As he inserted the chip into the reader, he sensed the presented opportunity, and then said, “I could help you find him, at the end of all this.”

He glanced nervously at James only to find the blue eyes studying him carefully. “Find who?” he asked after a moment, brow furrowing.

“Your partner. It’s the least I can do, especially since babysitting me is keeping you from looking for him,” Alex replied, shrugging with one shoulder before going back to starting the recoding program.  “I can easily access facial recognition software, even without MI6 help. We’ll locate your partner in no time at all.”

James remained quiet for a moment, but then shook his head. "No...I'd rather wait, let him decide on his own if he wants to come back," he said quietly, leaning back in his chair.

Alex frowned at James's choice of words, but chose not to comment on it. _Now is not the time_. Instead, he nodded to James’s mobile and added, “We should probably call sooner rather than later, since apparently we have a plan now.  I’ll go with you to MI6, help find your partner after, and then we’ll part ways once all is said and done,” he said as James placed his mobile on the table. He glanced up in time to watch James switch the phone settings to speakerphone before propping it up against the pencil cup. He turned back to his work, aware that the last bit of rewiring would ensure the complete erasure of Reardon’s palmprint. Then Alex wouldn’t be _completely_ defenseless in his return to London.

A click, and then “ _Hello?_ ”

He turned his attention to the upcoming phone call, aware that if James presented a potential threat, M was on a completely different level in terms of danger, given his position as the MI6 director and within the government. Alex slowly exhaled, aware that he had the resources to make this negotiation work in his favor and that he would gain one more when he finished reprogramming the Walther’s handgrip recognition sensors.

_No one can touch me now._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sigh* I'm sorry about the delay on this. April turned out to be stressful and then I had a major move in the beginning of May. On the plus side, I now have more time to write :) 
> 
> I hope everyone is doing well.


	26. Chapter 26

“Does Mallory usually growl that much when talking to people over the phone?”

“Only when said people threaten to erase all credit history records just because they’re not getting their way during negotiations,” James replied, his voice completely unrepentant as Alex heard the leather seat creak next to him. Alex kept his eyes on the road, tired despite having slept for the first half of the eight-hour road trip from Skyfall back to London; after reaching a tentative agreement with Mallory, James began preparations for their return almost right away.

_Probably wanted to move while he still had my cooperation. Smart._

“How much longer until we finally arrive?” Alex asked, glancing out the window; he hadn’t really noticed the moment when they entered the city, just that they were nearing Hyde Park. _Where my flat used to be_. Forcing the memory aside, he checked the dashboard clock of the sleek Aston Martin Vanquish from James’s personal garage. James had insisted on taking this particular vehicle, and Alex was beginning to see the reasons behind James’s decision. While he hadn’t had a chance to formally examine the dashboard controls or the touchscreen Sat Nav control panel, Alex imagined that he could still guess the function behind each button and dial. Including the red one that lay hidden between the driver and passenger seats.

“Another twelve to fifteen minutes before we finally get to Vauxhall Cross. Then we can get breakfast and avoid the worst of morning traffic. M doesn’t usually get into the office until nine-thirty anyway, and even then he won’t be available to talk until ten or eleven, depending on the demands of the first politician to get through to him,” James said, leaning forward to press a series of buttons on the central control system.

“What are you doing?” Alex asked, warily eyeing the rapidly changing display until it settled on a screen— _Press ‘Confirm’ to send message_ —and James pressed the indicated button before leaning back in his seat. “All kidding aside, what did you do?” he asked, unable to fight back a flash of panic when he saw the transmission disappear; he hadn’t even seen James type in the actual message. He became aware of the comforting weight of the Riddler’s memory drive resting against his chest inside an interior jacket pocket, next to the modified Walther, and mentally reminded himself that James hadn’t seen the drive’s contents yet…nor did he know how to decrypt the rest of the data, as far as Alex knew.

“Relax, I just sent a message to Q-Branch to let them know that we were coming. Once we’re in the city, they’ll just keep an eye on us until we pull into headquarters,” James replied as he tapped out a text to someone. “And I was just letting Trevelyan know that we were back in London, he’s still technically working and will want to rendezvous with you so he can resume his duties,” he said, a smile twitching on the side of his face. He glanced at Alex, and then raised an eyebrow when they made eye contact. “Eyes on the road,” he said, nodding forward.

 _That’s my line._ Alex scowled at him, but obeyed, silently miffed at the order. He tightened his grip on the steering wheel at the thought of his imminent transfer to another agent’s care, but squashed down the thought that the cause of anxiety was the discomfort of a stranger as opposed to the intimacy with James. Instead of dwelling on the thought, he asked, “Is Trevelyan as much of a troublemaker as you are? My neighbor has a crush on him, I don’t want her to get hurt from all of this.”

“I’m sure Trevelyan will make sure she’s well aware of the risks that comes with his work before either commit to anything, he’s cautious about relationships in general as it is,” James replied mildly as he placed his mobile on the dashboard within easy reach. “Hungry? There’s a café near Vauxhall that serves excellent pastries along with fresh-brewed coffee and tea, it’s popular with agents and staff alike. The owner knows me very well, got him out of a bit of trouble a few years ago,” he said, glancing at Alex.

“All right…do you know how to get there from here?” Alex asked after a moment, ducking his head in embarrassment. “I only have the routes between my flat, the therapist’s office, the hospital, and my workplace memorized, I never really had a reason to travel anywhere else. And even then, I usually traveled by cab since I never saw a point to having a car in an already-crowded city,” he admitted, suddenly unable to fully look James in the eye at the confession

He almost missed a pained half-smile on James’s face. “You didn’t travel much even with a friend?” James asked instead, brow furrowing in surprise.

Alex hesitated. “No, not really. That friend was Carol- er, Tess. I wasn’t really at Royal International for very long even before the first National Gallery visit,” he admitted, shrugging with one shoulder. “And the only people I interacted with before Tess were nurses and a therapist.”

“Mm. Do you know how to get to Knightsbridge at least? It’s south of Hyde Park, not too far from where you used to live,” James said, straightening in his seat. When Alex nodded, he said, “From there, you’ll continue to Piccadilly and follow the signs to A three-oh-two, after which you’ll stay on before merging left onto Vauxhall Bridge Road.” Pulling up a map on the control panel, he added, “Just stay on that road until you’ve crossed the Thames and then keep going. I’ll show you where the MI6 entrance is, but the café is just down the road a bit.”

“Christ, you weren’t really that far from me after all, I wouldn’t have stood a chance if you’d decided to hunt me down,” Alex said, switching lanes right as a gray sedan nearly rear-ended him. “Idiots,” he muttered under his breath, sighing at the garish miniature American flag hanging from the rearview mirror.

“To be fair, very few people knew where you were, and all were under orders not to tell me. Thankfully, you were very kind enough to give me your address,” James replied, a hint of humor audible in his voice as Alex began to cross the bridge, the SIS headquarters well in sight just ahead. Alex felt his hands tighten reflexively on the wheel, but then he felt James’s hand rest on his knee in a comforting gesture. “Are you all right?”

 _Don’t encourage him_. “Yes…just thinking,” he said, moving his knee away from the agent, who took the hint and retracted his hand. The fortified walls of the famed Babylon-on-Thames seemed impenetrable, but Alex could still picture a burning gap in the building with painful clarity, along with a burn of grief in his chest. For a second, he felt the phantom heat searing across his forearms as he lifted his hands to defend his face along with a quickening pulse that he’d last felt when he’d stared down Reardon’s barrel. Slowly exhaling, Alex tried to remember some relaxation techniques that Ella had taught him early on in their sessions together since panicking now wouldn’t help-

“Do you want me to drive?”

“No, we’re almost there,” Alex replied almost too quickly; James didn’t seem convinced, but chose to let the matter lie by leaning back in the passenger seat. Alex made a face when he realized that the gray sedan was now tailgating him, and he rolled his eyes when the sedan followed his right turn after the bridge. MI6 loomed on the left as Alex passed it, and he spotted the gated entrance near the bus stop. “I’m assuming you have the clearance to enter?” he asked, turning to look forward again as he kept going straight.

“I’m sure Mallory is still searching for a reason to revoke it, but yes, I have clearance as do many others. You’ll have special clearance to work there with Q-Branch, which we’ll sort out before we go see Mallory,” James explained as Alex slowed the car down enough to turn right and parallel-park across from the café, which had ‘ _Caffe Italia’_ written in block letters above the door. The gray sedan promptly accelerated past them, keeping to the main road, and Alex discreetly flipped the driver off. “You’ll be given full privileges of a Q-Branch employee, but it will be a temporary arrangement.”

“Of course.” Alex hadn’t known if MI6 would want to hire him back, but given that he probably didn’t remember critical information concerning his former job, chances of returning were low. _Probably for the best anyway_ , he thought as he turned the car off and tossed the keys to James. As he got out, he ran a critical eye over the surface of the Vanquish, lips thinning when he spotted a few scratches on the hood and what looked like a dent near the front wheel. He flushed when he looked up and found James watching him, a ghost of a smile on his face. “Just curious,” he said, squaring his shoulders and walking past James with his head held high.

“Didn’t say anything. Maybe when Q is checking it over, I can show you some of the extra features,” James said, moving to walk behind Alex as they crossed the street. “Missiles, ejection seat, smokescreens-”

“No kettle?” Alex quipped as he pushed the door open. He wasn’t entirely sure if James heard him; he nearly flinched at the unexpected noise level and accidentally bumped someone in the back with his elbow. “Sorry,” he muttered, stepping out of what appeared to be the line as James moved to stand between him and the strange and vaguely familiar faces that turned when the two men entered.

“Are you all right?”

Alex blinked, but nodded. “Yes, just startled. I guess ‘popular’ is an understatement,” he said, glancing around before he sat down at the indicated table, sliding into the seat with his back to the wall as James sat down across from him as though to better see the street behind Alex. Alex nearly did a double take when he spotted Eve Moneypenny standing in line with Marcela Nicholson, talking energetically about something that Alex couldn’t hear. He nearly jumped when James pushed a menu towards him, but accepted it gratefully. “What is it that Miss Moneypenny does at MI6?” he asked, careful to keep his voice low. “She soundly defeated Mr. Putnam in their last war of words.”

“Retired field agent, she’s the one who shot me in the shoulder in Istanbul. Works under Mallory now, but she’s still not someone to mess around with,” James said, tilting his body slightly so that he could see her. As Alex opened the menu, James said, “She’s a good friend regardless, and one of few I would trust with my life.”

“I take it that’s not a very long list to begin with?” Alex asked, curious despite himself.

“And it’s been getting shorter lately, but then again, espionage can do that to a person,” James said, leaning back in his chair as a waiter abruptly appeared at their table, balancing a tray with two mugs and a plate full of pastries. “Michael, long time no see,” James said as he looked up at the waiter, who shrugged with one shoulder.

“Business always lags around the holidays, Carlos figured that the two of you headed back to Europe for Christmas again, like last year,” Michael said as he placed a coffee mug in front of James and a steaming mug of Earl Grey in front of Alex, who blinked at the easy familiarity. He also didn’t miss the minute wince from James at Michael’s words. “Carlos assumed you both wanted your usual, and he wanted me to tell you that everything is on the house as a late Christmas present,” Michael added as he placed the tray of pastries down in the center of the table. Alex had to fold his hands on his lap to maintain decorum and keep from immediately snatching a pastry off the plate despite his hunger; he’d skipped the meal that James had cobbled together without making a mess back in the kitchens in Skyfall, citing that he was still too sleepy for food.

James seemed to sense his discomfort, however, and pushed the plate over to him as he said, “No, we stayed in the city, but with friends this year,” he said, blue eyes still fixed on Alex as he nudged the plate towards him again, this time successfully catching his attention. “You remember Tess Lawson, right?” James said, Alex pausing at the mention of the other agent’s name.

“Oh, good, she’s cleared then? Of all treason charges?” Michael asked, tucking the tray under his arm.

“ _Treason_?” Alex blurted out, startling both Michael and James. “Who said she was a traitor?” he asked, leaning forward and lowering his voice. He tried to swallow back the panic in his chest, but judging from James’s frown, he was failing to conceal it.

Michael shrugged uncomfortably before glancing around. “No one, yet. I just heard something about it yesterday, when I was doing my shift in Accounting,” he said, lowering his voice as he looked between the two of them. “Something about tampering with evidence and making it harder for them to find out about Reardon’s duplicity?” he added, voice tailing into a question and head turning as though waiting for confirmation from James.

“That’s for me and Winfield to know, and for you Accounting rats to wonder about,” James replied, voice firm and cold. Michael’s survival instincts seemed to kick in, and he nodded, warily backing away from the agent. “My suggestion, Michael, is keep to Accounting, and stop spreading rumors in public place about a division that not only isn’t your own, but also has the ability to…effectively silence any gossips about division members,” James said calmly, jacket sliding back enough to show the edge of the shoulder holster that Alex hadn’t seen him put on that morning.

Michael swallowed. “Of course, my apologies, sir,” he mumbled, backing away from the table and nearly stumbling into another table. “Sorry…” he turned to Alex and said, “It’s good to see you again, sir, and perhaps we’ll have the chance to work together again soon.”

“It’s good to be back. Circumstances willing, perhaps we’ll work together again,” Alex replied, keeping his voice even. He didn’t relax until Michael had scrambled off before turning back to James. “That was mean, threatening him like that,” he chided as he reached for a pastry. “And you’ll have to let me in the loop about Tess, given that the last I saw her was in the bloody car park outside my flat,” he added as he took a sip of Earl Grey. He paused as he realized something, and then said, “She…she didn’t get in trouble for losing track of me, did she?”

“No, she got in trouble for trying to shoot Reardon in the middle of a crowded train station and did not respond to the ceasefire orders from Q or M,” James said, absently tapping the table with his fingers while ignoring his coffee. “I don’t know why she would have been charged for treason, but agents protect their own from all threats, including annoying and nosy accountants.” He shook his head, fingers tightening into a fist briefly before he said, “M won’t allow me, or Trevelyan for that matter, to talk to her, which I need to do in order to figure out what the _hell_ is going on. I suspect he’s keeping her in isolation in Medical, and since she _does_ have excellent incentive to return to civilian life, she’ll obey his orders without question.”

“Want me to hack into the system and get you the authorization to talk to her? I think I know a back door that MI6 may have left open, or at least accessible,” Alex offered, thinking of the satellite network link between Universal Exports database and MI6. He glanced to make sure Nicholson was still out of earshot before he leaned in and added, “In fact, ten quid says I can get back into the network, given that the firewall codes are _my_ work that I’d recognize anywhere.”

James raised an eyebrow. “And get caught again? That’s a bit counter-productive, don’t you think?” he said, looking interested despite himself.

Alex shrugged. “I’ve got two laptops in the car, one of which I used to hack into MI6. The other one, the smashed one, had easy access into the Quartermaster’s credentials. Let me go get it from the car, and since we still have time before M is ready for us,” he said, checking the café clock, “I will be able to get into the network, tweak the authorization orders, and then be logged out in time for the visit with Mallory. I just need the keys to the car,” he said, holding his hand out across the table.

James raised an eyebrow. “I’ll go with you,” he said, starting to stand up.

“James, you don’t have to. I’m just getting the laptop out of the backseat,” Alex replied patiently. “Hell, if you’re worried about someone recognizing it, then I’ll put it in a pouch and bring that out too.”

“No.”

Alex blinked at the abrupt refusal, but closed his eyes briefly when he recognized James’s familiar expressionless mask settling in. He leaned back for a moment, glancing at the ceiling as he tried to cycle through the reasons for James’s refusal. “James, a deal’s a deal. I don’t have anywhere to go, I’m not going to steal the car, I’m not running away,” he said in what he hoped was a placating tone. “But if it makes you feel better, I promise to come back,” he said calmly, the familiar words easily rolling off his tongue.

James visibly flinched, sending a minute jolt of panic through Alex’s gut. He thought he saw a flicker of pain in James’s eyes, but felt quietly relieved when James wordlessly fished the keys out of his pocket. “Be quick,” he warned as Alex took the keys.

“I won’t scratch the door,” Alex quipped before getting up from the table.

Walking towards the front door, he held it open for an entering customer before slipping outside to the sidewalk. He drew his jacket tighter around himself, breath coming out in white puffs as he crossed the street, unlocking the door before walking to the car door behind the driver’s seat. He knew without turning around that James could see him from the café window.

 _His paranoia is justified, most likely still haunted by partner’s disappearance._ Alex made a mental note to discreetly dig for more information on the partner once James was no longer in the vicinity, maybe even ask one of his colleagues. Alex technically only needed a physical description to search via satellites for the partner, but he was curious about what happened to him, and what the other man was like. What James found appealing in him.

_Stop it. Just stop doing this to yourself. What’s done is done._

Shaking his head, he leaned forward and found the computer satchel, and began to pull it out of the backseat.

The familiar, yet dangerous, high-pitched whistle was his only warning.

Without thinking, Alex flattened himself against the seat, burying his face against the leather when he heard glass shatter a second later. Screams soon followed, and he scrambled into the safety of the car before slamming the door shut and climbing into the passenger seat to get a better look at the attackers. Ducking below the dashboard, he peeked over the edge in time to see one masked man coming around the corner from the main street, firing several shots into the air to scatter people and create more noise and confusion. Cars honked as drivers attempted to move in the semi-choked lanes, and doors slammed closed as people scrambled to hide.

Alex, meanwhile, ducked below the dashboard to check that the Walther was loaded and ready to go when the driver’s door abruptly opened. Alex raised the Walther only to freeze when James slid into the car. Firing off two shots towards the street, he snatched the keys from Alex and started the car. He fired once more, spilling first blood before shutting the door.

“Five seconds. I let you out of my sight for _five seconds_ ,” James growled as he closed the car door and threw the car into reverse before turning a sharp right. “This is what’s going to happen,” he said, glancing at Alex. “I’m going to go around the block and try to head towards the MI6 Support Office. You’re going to call Q-Branch from my phone and tell Q I need immediate backup, Trevelyan _should_ be in today.”

“All right.” Alex slipped the Walther back into the holster before reaching into the pocket where he guessed James’s phone to be; he didn’t question it too much when he found it and swiped the screen open. “You really should set a passcode to this,” he remarked as he scrolled through James’s contacts.

“Not now. The name is Riley Parker,” James said, reaching over and placing a hand on Alex’s head to push him down. Glass abruptly shattered from the rear window as bullets came through and embedded themselves into the seat headrests with dull _thuds_. “And stay out of sight, you’re the one they’re gunning for. Reardon was a double-oh, he knows how to conduct missions without radio contact from a handler.”

Alex started to search for the name, but felt his blood run cold when he noticed the lack of a signal. “We’re on our own until we can break the jammer, which I suspect Reardon might have since it’s MI6 tech and designed to operate at a large range,” he said, stuffing the phone back into James’s pocket before pulling his Walther out. “The gun Holton used on me, and the jammer he used at Royal International were MI6 tech. Which, since you agents are _horrible_ about returning your equipment, Reardon knew no one would look for either item and write it off as lost.”

“Of all the things to remember…” James muttered as he made another sharp right, cutting across traffic and heading down another one-way street. “Hold tight,” he ordered before moving around a few parked cars, tires screeching in protest. Alex felt his stomach roll when he spotted the gray sedan from earlier, close behind them. “Remember those extra features I wanted to show you?” James asked, pressing a few commands into the central control panel as he kept weaving the car around approaching vehicles.

Alex glanced warily at him. “Yes, what about them?”

“When I use the smokescreen, see if you can hit either the driver or any passengers, but _be careful_ ,” James said, a slight edge of anxiety in his tone.

“I’m _always_ careful,” Alex shot back as he lowered the window at the same time James pressed a button on the dashboard.

Gray smoke billowed out from behind the car as Alex propped himself on the doorframe. Raising the Walther, he fired off several shots into the place where he’d last seen the gray sedan, ducking in time for a stray bullet soar over his head. Gritting his teeth, he braced himself against the Vanquish, well aware that there was another rapidly approaching sharp right turn. He torqued his waist once more to avoid another few bullets—a side-view mirror disappeared in a shower of glass and plastic—and then lined up the shots before firing twice.

He immediately slid back into the Vanquish when he heard the explosion, a warm orange glow lighting up the interior of the Vanquish as fire appeared through the smokescreen. Breathing heavily, he took James’s phone again without prompting, checking to see if the signal was back.

 _Still jammed_.

“Reardon might try to cut us off at the next intersection,” Alex said, rolling his window back up.

“I know, we’ll also be going against traffic a bit. We’ll lay low until we either get service back or get in touch with Q or M,” James said, slowing down for a moment as he approached the intersection, preparing to make the left turn.

Alex didn’t dare hope that Reardon had been in that sedan; it wasn’t his style, and he would be careful to stay out of James’s range. Cursing Mallory to hell and back for locking him out of the MI6 systems, where he could have been tracking Reardon, Alex braced himself as James stopped the car at the intersection, carefully waiting for the proper window. “Get on the floor, just in case,” James said without looking away from the road.

Alex turned to stare at him. “But-”

 _“Now_.”

Alex obeyed without further complaint, sliding down into the floor and curling up into a ball. James waited a few more seconds before accelerating into the street again, turning a sharp left as Alex adjusted himself to stay in place better.

_WHAM!_

Alex banged the side of his head upon impact, teeth clacking painfully as the Vanquish jolted and skidded to a stop on the side of the road. Trying not to wince, he carefully pried himself out of the floor just to glance out the window, grimacing when he saw that the second car had deliberately slammed into them, creating a cloud of exhaust smoke and steam that billowed from the point of impact.

“Stay here,” James growled before kicking the car door open and slipping out, Walther in hand. He didn’t seem aware of the thin trickle of blood down the side of his face, his focus entirely on the murky figures coming towards them with guns drawn. Alex, terrified for James’s safety, pulled his own Walther out as he climbed to his feet, pushing his way out of the car regardless of James’s orders. Hesitating out of fear of accidentally shooting James, Alex tried to keep an eye on the men, almost missing the flash of weak sun against a glass lenses on the rooftop just ahead.

“ _Sniper!”_ he shouted right as James lunged at the nearest man. With a surge of panic, Alex shot the second one in the face right as he tried to strike James from the agent’s blind spot. James twisted the first mercenary’s shooting arm to kill the third man before elbowing the first sharply in the solar plexus and throwing him forward. A shot to the head finished the job.

Then, to Alex’s horror, James’s body jerked forward before even had a chance to turn around.

“ _No!”_

Alex didn’t remember running to James’s side; just found himself turning James over before blocking Reardon’s view of James with his own body. He checked for a pulse, shaking fingers hovering and pressing gently for the gentle rhythm that he couldn’t find because of his own thudding heart. He tried not to swear, aware that agitation would only make it more difficult to find a pulse.

 _Reardon_.

Alex, without thinking, twisted and moved to stand in front of James, somehow knowing that it would take Reardon two minutes to reload, aim and fire the otherwise cumbersome sniper rifle. He fired the Walther in Reardon’s direction, to the rooftops of the MI6 Support Office, biting back a sharp cry of frustration since he _knew_ he was out of range to even reach Reardon, much less injure him.

He didn’t hear the return shot this time.

A familiar red-hot burn through his shoulder, a sharp _crack_ , and blossoming pain before nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for any location inaccuracies here, please let me know if there are any.


	27. Chapter 27

_He recoiled the moment he looked down and saw scarlet-covered hands._

_“M is dead”: three words that settled like ice in his stomach when he heard the flat intonations over the comms. The twist of numb shock tightening as he held his mother’s hand for the final time, and the fading warmth as he cradled Alana’s still form in his lap. Three in two months and the suffocating darkness that engulfed him, almost drowning him._

_James had pulled him back, hadn’t he?_

_He could still taste the fear and bitter resentment in the beginning as the agent remained on the periphery of his life after Skyfall. But he could still feel the deadly hands chase away the hurt and numb the pain—James hurt too, they both did—two negatives made a positive._

_I need-_

Alex woke with a sharp gasp as panic flared sharply in his chest, eyes dimly registering the beige ceiling above him. Vaguely aware of the increasing beeps from the monitor beside his bed, he tried to calm himself down only to panic more when he realized that his legs were trapped and getting twisted in white thin material. He tried reaching for his glasses, but instead knocked over a water cup and splashed it on himself and the floor. He grunted as he twisted around on the uncomfortable mattress, yanking the bothersome IV line out of the back of his hand when he nearly upset the drip bag. Swallowing back a twinge of worry as he felt along the bedside table, he surmised that his glasses were gone and pushed himself into a sitting position.

He grit his teeth against the spiking pain in his forehead as he reached out and grasped the bed handrests to brace himself and get a better sense of the bare hospital room; he could see the vague outline of the ensuite lavatory near what had to been the room door.  Even when squinting, Alex could not see much in the way of decorations or security measures: not even a small room camera in the corner of the room above the door.

_Civilian hospital; anyone could just walk right in._

_James_.

Throat suddenly dry, Alex looked back at the door, trying to calculate the distance in steps as he recalled his last memory of James— _a voice in his ear or lying face down and prone on the pavement?_ —and fought back an echo of the sharp, copper scent of blood in his nose. He focused on getting out of bed, aware that he and James stood a better chance of surviving Reardon’s next attempt— _no way he’d leave us alone if we’re both injured_ —if they were together instead of apart.

He slowly maneuvered himself to sit on the edge of the bed before using the IV stand as a brace. Then, despite the headache, he shuffled his way to the door, the IV stand squeaking softly as he dragged it across the floor. He let go of it then, testing his stability before reaching out and leaning on it again; Reardon would undoubtedly expect him to be unarmed, and if Alex could pretend to be helpless, it would probably buy him the element of surprise in a confrontation.

_I have to find James first._

Pushing the door open, he squinted again, determining that the white mass before him indicated the lack of people, the familiar pattering of rain against glass ahead of him with silence to either side. Then he slipped out into the hall, careful not to let the door slam behind him. Then he started to move to the right, picking one at random.

A thick arm unexpectedly wrapped around his waist, sending jolt of panic through his chest. Without thinking, he tried to drag the IV stand around to shake off the first assailant, but immediately failed when he tripped and staggered towards his attacker right as a second man easily twisted the stand out of his grip. He growled when the first man caught his wrist, a person-shaped blob with some details coming into focus as the man forced him to turn around and face the other man, who was backing away and moving the IV stand just out of reach. He tried to yank free, stumbling when his world unexpectedly tilted to the left and he tightened his grip on the first man’s arm in an effort to remain upright.

A clatter, and the second man easily caught Alex just in time. “Easy there now, careful, sir,” the first man murmured gently as the second one carefully nudged Alex back into a standing position. “Everything is all-”

“Wait—no, no, _let me go!”_ Alex snarled, trying to back away even as he collided into the second man, who reached up and tightly gripped his upper forearms. _“James!_ ” he shouted, trying not to despair even as he heard his voice echo down the hall.

“He’s not here, but you’re safe!” the second man grunted as he tried to herd Alex back towards the room, the first man trying to gently pull him forward at the same time. “Sir— _shit,”_ Alex heard the second man mutter under his breath as Alex tried to smack their heads together, the sharp movement causing his world to sway even more. _“_ Sir _, please-_ ”

“What the _hell_ is going on?”

Alex flinched at the sharp voice from down the hall, and the two men holding him stilled, one of them muttering, “ _Fuck_ ,” under his breath as the rapid footsteps— _heels_ —approached the three of them. Alex twisted to see another person approaching them, a nurse, if he had to guess from the few splashes of color on her uniform.

She tucked something under her arm— _clipboard_ —before she snapped, “Tavers, release him immediately.” To Alex’s relief, the first man promptly released him, and he staggered backwards into the other man. “Tavers, get Doctor Redding immediately. Melvin, _gently_ assist Mr. Winfield back to his bed, and then go fetch double-oh six and tell him he’s back on duty,” she said crisply, pushing the IV stand off to the side before opening the room door again.

“No, no, no, you don’t understand— _James!”_ Alex shouted, twisting to look back at Tavers’ retreating form. “ _James!”_ he tried once more even as Melvin pushed him back into the room. “No, no, no, not MI6, they’re compromised-”

“You’re safe now, Reardon cannot reach you here. No one is going to hunt or hurt you,” the nurse murmured in a soothing tone as Melvin transferred Alex to her; the force behind her grip startled Alex enough for her to guide him with little resistance back to the bed. Alex had a sneaking suspicion he was not the first patient to struggle, nor would he be the last. She easily guided him back, tutting in disapproval as she nudged him onto the bed and the IV stand back into its place. Attaching a new drip bag, she said, “This is medication to help you recover from the sedatives that we administered upon your arrival in order to treat your injuries.”

Alex winced, gritting his teeth when she took his hand and reattached the IV line along with the lines to the heart monitor. “I don’t think I’m safe,” he said quietly, hoping to get the severity of the situation to the nurse. “My attacker managed to operate within MI6, so I think a civilian hospital would be child’s play. I don’t feel safe, especially since I don’t have my glasses—”

“Lucky, then that this isn’t a civilian hospital. Lay back,” the nurse ordered, pressing a hand against his good shoulder and forcing him down. “Your glasses were removed in order to deter a premature escape, although I should have expected that would not have been enough. You’re in the medical facility at SIS Headquarters with two room guards and a third specialized bodyguard on the way. I think you’re going to be all right.”

 _SIS? MI6_. Alex slowly leaned back as he heard the nurse fuss with a few cables before picking up her clipboard to jot a few notes down. “Where are my things?” he asked quietly, trying to follow her movements around the room.

“Your possessions and clothes are secured in a footlocker in the Quartermaster’s office, Bond ensured that no one tampered with them in the transfer,” the nurse explained, pausing at the soft knock on the door. “Come in!” she called before turning back to Alex, who tensed when the hospital room door opened and another person wearing a white lab coat walked in.

“Good afternoon, Alex,” the newcomer said carefully, Alex stiffening further when he recognized Doctor Redding’s voice. Redding reached out and gently took his hand, pressing his glasses into his palm. He heard the two women conversing quietly as he slipped his glasses on, and only vaguely recognized the dark-haired nurse standing with Doctor Redding. The nurse excused herself then as Redding pulled up a chair to sit next to Alex. She sighed, glancing at Alex before she said, “You’re probably sick of this question by now, but how are you feeling?”

“Do you really work for MI6?” Alex asked, frowning as he reluctantly settled against the pillows.

Redding shook her head. “Doctor O’Reilly, the chief physician here, is a friend of mine. When agents and employees need rehabilitation back into civilian life, O’Reilly sends them to St. Barts, where they become my patients,” she explained as she set the clipboard facedown on her knees. “But back to my original question: how do you feel?”

“Like I have a migraine. I got shot again, didn’t I?” Alex asked as Redding set her clipboard aside and got up to walk across the room to a small table that held various small instruments.

“And at a higher velocity than last time. What you’re feeling now is the lingering effects of the anesthesia that O’Reilly administered in order to keep you unconscious while he operated on you. He hasn’t quite forgotten the last surgery yet,” Redding said, picking up a small torch.

“What happened?” Alex asked as he felt his chest squeeze just a bit.

“You woke up from your comatose state during surgery, and punched O’Reilly in the nose as he was stitching up your shoulder. He’d used a local anesthesia at the time since he didn’t want to risk your life even more while you were already unconscious. Three people had to hold you down, and that was when O’Reilly realized you might have amnesia; you failed to recognize anyone in the operating room even after several people identified themselves,” she said, nodding to him. “Glasses off, I need to check for a concussion.”

Alex grudgingly removed his glasses and remained obediently still as she checked his eyes. “How long do I have to stay here?” he asked as Redding moved away again and he slipped his glasses back on.

“Until O’Reilly is appeased with your condition. You are not permitted to leave MI6 premises without an escort until Reardon is dead,” she explained as she set the torch down and returned to his side. “No concussion, but let’s see how your memory is. Since you still did hit your head for the second time now—”

“Fifth,” Alex quietly corrected.

Redding stared at him, frozen in her tracks. “Fifth?” she repeated.

“First in Paris, which I still have nightmares about. Second, when Holton, my own intern, tackled me at work before holding me at gunpoint. The only reason that wasn’t quite as bad was because I tried to cushion the blow with my hand. Third, when Reardon attacked me in my own flat less than ten minutes later. Fourth, when I fell out of bed because of a different nightmare, and fifth, when Reardon sniped me,” Alex calmly recited, ticking each time off a finger as he never looked away from Redding. “Five times.”

Redding nodded after a moment. “Let me see if I can prescribe some sleep medication, that should help with the nightmares. Double-oh six will have to make sure there are no more attacks,” she said, turning a page over on her clipboard. “By the way, I did inform Doctor O’Reilly that you had a trigger at the National Gallery, and he thinks he knows what it is,” she said, looking up when they both heard a knock on the door. Alex tensed when he saw the doorknob turn a moment later and Trevelyan walked in, nodding once before turning to Redding.

“Ellen sent for me, ma’am,” he said, moving into a relaxed parade rest even as he glanced at Redding’s proximity to Alex. Alex grimaced when he saw the bulky coat sleeve on one forearm.

“I still have a few confidential questions for Mr. Winfield, so you may wait outside. After that, don’t you dare let Winfield out of your sight,” Redding warned as Trevelyan saluted.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, ma’am,” he replied with a nod. He looked briefly at Alex and said, “Sir,” before leaving.

Alex waited before Trevelyan was gone before he said, “He broke something.”

Redding raised an eyebrow as she turned to him. “What makes you so sure?” she asked, leaning back in her chair.

“He called me ‘sir’ and didn’t question your presence even though he doesn’t fully trust you,” Alex said, tugging the thin blankets over himself. “Easy compliance means he gets out faster, and he’s never called me ‘sir’ since…some point after Operation Skyfall, I think. Not unless he’s trying to get out of trouble or we’re in a formal public situation,” Alex said, gingerly rubbing his temples.

“So you recall Operation Skyfall?” Redding pressed slightly, leaning forward a bit.

“Not details, just that Ja-, er, Bond doesn’t use the Tube nearly enough to be familiar with the rush hour crowds, that I did something cataclysmically stupid _twice_ that cost…oh _hell,_ ” Alex groaned, burying his face into his hands as the familiar guilt tugged on his heart. “How is it that he’s still speaking to me? They were _close_ even though he drove her crazy—” he whispered, remembering the flat ‘ _M is dead_ ’ in his ear: there had been static, he’d thought that he’d misheard those three words. He recalled a grinning red skull hovering in the center of his screen, mocking him for his stupid mistake. Curling in on himself slightly, he whispered, “I—”

“Silva tricked everyone, remember?” Redding said quietly. “He tricked Bond into bringing him back to London where he tricked you into setting him free. And Bond asked you to leave the crumb trail for him, it’s not your fault.”

“I could have turned him down, I could have done something different with the computer—”

“Alex, we all could have done something different at some point or another. I suggest taking it as a lesson for next time. And it was over three years ago now, you moved on from it as did everyone else,” Redding said carefully, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “No one blames you for it anymore.”

“Major Boothroyd…that’s his name, right? He would have had my hide for it,” Alex said, pressing his palm against his temple as he recalled the fuzzy image of an older man with a slight absentmindedness that was both endearing and frustrating all at once. Especially when deadlines came into play; Boothroyd had been fanatic about them yet had a tendency to occasionally forget them. Alex looked at Redding, and felt his gut curl at the familiar apologetic expression on her face. “Don’t tell me he’s dead too,” he said after a moment.

“It was a work-related death, from what I understand,” she said quietly, reaching out and squeezing his forearm gently.

“Have I forgotten anyone else I cared about or loved that is dead now?” Alex asked, pulling his arm out of her reach as he propped himself up on his elbows.

“Not that I know of. Do you remember what it was you did for M while you worked here?” Redding asked, tilting her head slightly as though to carefully regard him.

Alex shook his head. “Not specifically, just that it had something do with programming and development,” he said, sitting up before he pulled his glasses off and rubbed his eyes. “I had a recollection, a few days ago, of working somewhere with others and Bond dropped by, to annoy me, I think.” He hesitated, and said, “Where is he? The nurse said he wasn’t here.”

“Escaped as soon as O’Reilly turned his back, from what I understand. He won’t come back since he’ll risk recapture from the Medical staff, and he’s not exactly the model patient from what I understand,” Redding said, tapping her pen against the clipboard. “Aside from recent interactions with Bond and Trevelyan, do you remember anything else about them?”

Alex opened his mouth to respond, hesitated, and then shook his head. “I…I can’t tell you, I don’t remember what’s supposed to be confidential or not about those agents,” he admitted, ducking his head in embarrassment as bits of information came to mind: a few names, dates, and locations, useless to him as fragments. “As for Ja- Bond, some of those memories are in pieces, but are still private, although I’m not sure how accurate they are anymore,” he said, the tips of his ears burning at the memory of phantom fingers touching his bare skin, soft words spoke against sweaty skin as he lost coherence. Swallowing past an unexpected knot in his throat, he shook his head and said, “Look, I can help find the Riddler under the condition I get _all_ my laptops back. I still owe Bond a favor, and once I do that, I’ll go. I don’t know if I lost my job at RIE, but I need to make sure I still have it so I can keep paying the bills. The catch is that _clearly,_ I need O’Reilly’s approval to leave,” he said, folding his hands on top of his blanket-covered lap.

Redding frowned. “What about coming back to work at MI6?” she asked, starting to stand up.

“Well, given the circumstances, I’d say that MI6 made their position _quite_ clear about that, wouldn’t you?” he asked, remembering the ‘ _on indefinite medical leave_ ’ on his Universal Exports records and the lack of contact after he left St. Barts. “If Operation Skyfall is any indication about my performance record—”

“Which it’s not,” Redding interrupted calmly as she studied the forms on the clipboard.

“Then the sooner we finish this up, with minimal interference from me, the better,” Alex said, thinking now. “I’ll need to speak to whomever is in charge of MI6’s version of IT, let them into the necessary laptops and hand over whatever data I can remember. The faster we move, the sooner we catch Reardon. He might try again soon since he probably knows that I’m in MI6 custody.” He looked up at Redding and asked, “May I speak to O’Reilly and see if he’ll let me go?”

“Very well, one moment,” Redding said, setting the clipboard on a nearby table and approaching the door. “Double-oh six will watch you in the meantime,” she said, opening the room door.

“Thank you,” Alex said, watching as she paused long enough to whisper something to Trevelyan before walking away, allowing the agent to slip into the room and close the door behind him. He took Redding’s recently vacated chair as Alex straightened himself on the bed. The two of them quietly regarded each other for a moment, Alex studying his features in an attempt to guess what he was thinking. The agent maintained a careful poker face, one that could be mistaken for apathy at first glance. Alex furrowed his brow for a moment before he asked, “How long were you watching me for?”

Trevelyan didn’t mince words. “Ever since you left St. Barts, I let you dictate the nature of our interactions,” he said, reaching forward to push Alex back onto the bed, hand carefully splayed across Alex’s chest as a subtle reminder to not try and get up again. “My flat was right above yours,” he said when Alex lay back down.

“I was afraid as much. Is that how you got there so fast…that night?” Alex asked, feeling a twinge of guilt at the sight of Trevelyan’s bandaged arm peeking out from underneath the suit jacket. “That was you I shot in my bedroom, wasn’t it? I’m sorry—”

“You were scared and I ran into a known hostile situation without checking to make sure it was safe to enter,” Trevelyan said, shrugging with one shoulder. “And to be honest, it’s not the worst injury I’ve ever received from friendly fire,” he said, leaning forward to tug the blankets back up.

“Is James all right? From Reardon’s attack,” Alex asked, batting Trevelyan’s hands away from the blankets to fix them himself.

“Yes, checked himself out of Medical once he woke up after the surgery to remove the bullet from the back of his shoulder. He’s lucky it didn’t hit anything vital, but he stuck with theoretical bed rest until he’s healed,” Trevelyan said grimly.

Alex nodded, unable to help the small curl of disappointment in his gut that he hadn’t had a chance to see James before the other left. “I have a question, if that’s all right, about James’s partner,” he said, watching Trevelyan carefully.

The other looked confused. “What about him?” he said, raising an eyebrow.

“James’s partner, the one that’s been missing for a while. I promised James that I would find him as a way of thanking him for helping me,” Alex said, watching as the mask slipped back onto Trevelyan’s face. “I didn’t want to dredge up any painful memories for James, so I was hoping you could give me a physical description so I can run facial recognition programs.”

Trevelyan was quiet for a moment, gauging his response. Then he said, “It’s technically none of my business, so I can’t tell.” Alex nodded in understanding as Trevelyan added, “I would still ask him, though, once you find him.”

“Well, if I wore something other than this paper gown, I would have tried by now,” Alex said, pushing the blankets back as he sat up again. “Please go get my clothes from wherever James stashed them.”

“O’Reilly hasn’t given you approval to leave yet.”

Alex bristled. “He will, and you’re going to make this move along faster by getting my clothes,” he said, glaring at the agent.

Trevelyan raised an eyebrow. “I think I’ll stay here because I’d rather not be complicit in your escape. I’ve got orders, remember?” he said, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “How do I know you’re not going to sneak out to go find James once my back’s turned?”

Alex narrowed his eyes. “Double-oh six, if you do _anything_ that doesn’t involve getting my clothes, I _will_ get ahold of our landlady’s records and tweak yours so that it looks like you failed to pay rent for the last few months. Temporary damage, of course, but it will be one _hell_ of an inconvenience to sort out, even more so once you drag Accounting and your IT into it, because I suspect that for one, you already cause them plenty of trouble. Two, you know how bloody _stubborn_ Ms. Ridley can be when rent turns into a problem,” Alex said quietly, never once looking away from Trevelyan.

Trevelyan quietly regarded him before slowly smiling. “Good to see that you haven’t quite lost your edge in threatening professional assassins, sir,” he said before standing up, squeezing Alex’s uninjured shoulder gently with one hand before leaving the room. “One set of clothes coming right up.”

Alex waited until the door closed behind Trevelyan before starting to get out of bed again.

_Click!_

“Did you just lock me in?” Alex shouted, frozen in place at the noise.

“Just doing my duty to ensure your safety, sir!” Trevelyan called back through the door, and Alex didn’t need to see him to know that he was grinning.

“Fuck _you_ ,” Alex growled under his breath as he flopped back onto the bed, closing his eyes as the exhaustion crept up on him, the adrenaline dying in the silence of the room. He momentarily fought to stay awake, the familiar anxiety of a potential panic attack creeping along with sleep, and tried to reach to the door for a man he suspected would never enter.

_James, I need you back—_


	28. Chapter 28

“You know Medical _is_ looking for you, correct?”

“Your point?” Bond asked without looking at Q. He raised the rifle to the paper target before he fired once to test the kickback against his damaged shoulder; Reardon definitely remembered which shoulder Eve had shot when he’d targeted Bond from behind. Q didn’t react, merely blinked as the shot went wide and hit one of the outer rings. “That was a test shot,” Bond said irritably as he reset the chamber.

“Of course. And I didn’t have a point, it was just an observation,” Q said as Bond lined up the shot, his voice muffled through Bond’s earplugs. He set the clipboard down to readjust his safety goggles before gesturing Bond to fire again. “Any particular reason beyond the usual dislike for medical care that drove you to escape this time? I need to know what Ellen will say when she comes storming into Q-Branch for you,” he said, picking the clipboard back up with his usual pen.

“No. Do you want to test the firearms or do you want to _chat_?” Bond asked, glaring at Q before lining up the next shot.

“Test the firearms. Keep in mind that the only reason I’m letting you get away with this atrocious behavior is because I lost Trevelyan and you’re the only other double-oh around to test these weapons before the budget and performance reports are due for submission in a couple days,” Q said, blinking when Bond pulled the trigger. He hesitated, and then said, “I may have also been wondering how Winfield is doing, overall that is,” he said as Bond reloaded the chamber.

 _And there it is_. “I’m surprised that you didn’t try hacking Medical’s records for that information yourself,” Bond replied as he aimed again only to lower the rifle as he watched one of the firing range technicians switching the paper target out for a new one.

“I did, but the data tells me only the cold, hard facts of his current condition. Nothing about him as a person or...or what he remembers,” Q said, hesitating only briefly on the last phrase.

“Based from when we last spoke before the ambush, his memory is still in pieces,” Bond said, lowering the rifle as he turned to face Q. “You only notice it when he speaks and recalls the details you remember, but it's not a conscious action. That's why you can't mention anything direct to him and expect him to remember it. I suspect M may still cut him loose after everything," Bond said, turning back to raise the rifle again and aim it at the new paper target.

_It's like watching him return to me with open arms only to leave just as quietly without saying a parting word. I only get to see him for at least a split second._

As though sensing the shift in his mood—or already aware of how sensitive the topic of Winfield was to Bond—Q remained wisely silent as Bond finished firing the rifle before gently taking the weapon from Bond to better examine it. He gestured for Bond to take the next one on the covered table between the two of them before carrying the rifle to an R&D technician. They exchanged whispers before the technician took it away for further study as Q returned to Bond’s side, gesturing for him to go ahead with the next shot as he inserted his own earplugs again. Readjusting his own safety goggles, Bond raised the next handgun and carefully lined it up with the black dot.

“Double-oh seven, please wait a moment.”

Bond paused at the order, frowning when he noticed Q looked just as confused until movement behind Bond caught Q’s attention. Brows pulling together in deepening confusion, Bond turned to see R standing at the door, mouth drawn into a thin line as she twisted the hem of her shirt. “Mr. Winfield is here, as is double-oh six and Ellen,” she blurted out before Q or Bond could speak.

Silence. Then, “Let me guess, Ellen is here for double-oh seven?” Q asked, glancing back at Bond.

“And Mr. Winfield is here for you,” R said, glancing nervously at Bond before turning back to Q.

“Right. The gun, if you please, double-oh seven,” Q said, turning around and holding his hand out expectantly towards Bond, who scowled. “Bond, I need to go see what is going on and frankly, I _don’t_ trust you to not walk out with that.”

For a moment, Bond genuinely considered walking out with the gun, just to irritate Q, but finally handed the weapon over, holding onto it for a moment to watch Q struggle with it before he released his grip. Q stumbled a few steps back as Bond brushed past the two of them, setting the earplugs and safety goggles on a nearby table before entering the small corridor that he knew led straight to the main floor of Q-Branch. Thankful that Q, and his predecessor, had been diligent about ensuring that the doors remained noiseless, he slipped inside without a sound, immediately searching for Winfield.

The man in question stood near the main entrance, nodding to something that one of the techs was saying. Winfield looked tired, paler than he had at Skyfall, but Bond silently reveled in seeing the achingly familiar gleam of excitement in Winfield’s eye as he stood in the middle of advanced yet familiar technology that he had no recollection of ever using. Bond glanced to the side to find Alec standing nearby next to Ellen, O’Reilly’s vengeful second-in-command. Both looked politely interested in the discussion, but Bond knew Alec well enough to recognize the thin mask of boredom underneath the civility. Hoping that he hadn’t been spotted yet, Bond silently moved around the edge of the room in an attempt for the emergency fire exit, ignoring the few techs that jumped once they became aware of his presence.

“Don’t think I don’t see you over there, double-oh seven,” Ellen suddenly growled, and he merely raised his hands in mock surrender as two technicians jumped at his appearance.

“My dear Ellen, lovely as ever I see,” he said, leaning against the wall when Winfield looked up. “Mr. Winfield, I assume you are feeling better?” he asked, the name sounding odd in Winfield’s former domain.

“Yes, thank you. I can only hope that you are doing well likewise,” Winfield said, brow furrowing as he seemed to bite back another question. Instead, he turned to the staff member and quietly excused himself before gingerly picking his way through the maze of desks. “I just wanted to thank you for everything,” he said in a calm tone that caused Bond’s heart to ache— _how many times have I heard that over the comms?_ —and he paused when Bond nodded and offered his hand. “If you still want to go through with my offer, simply let me know what your partner looks like and I can start searching for him,” he said, awkwardly accepting Bond’s hand and shaking it, his grip surprisingly firm. He glanced at a nearby tech, who immediately hunched back over her work, before he said in a lower voice, “I also apologize for being too forward at Skyfall.”

“I think if anyone should apologize for that, it should be me, Mr. Winfield,” Bond replied calmly, extremely aware of the heavy weight of stares around the two of them. Aware of the inevitable rumors, he nodded to Q and said, “Have you been introduced to our Quartermaster yet? The lovely lady next to him is his second-in-command, R.”

Winfield turned with a smile, accepting Q’s handshake before turning to R. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both, I look forward to working with you as much as I’m permitted,” he said, seemingly unaware of the soft whispers around the four of them.

“Honestly, we’d like as much help as you’re willing to give, I’m not entirely certain of what we’re dealing with since I haven’t looked at any of the retrieved data yet,” Q explained as he gestured for Winfield to follow him. Bond raised an eyebrow at the unexpected note of anxiety in Q’s voice as the three of them began to move back to Q’s workstation.

“I’ve only decrypted a small portion of the personnel list, the first sixteen names since I was looking for a specific individual,” Winfield explained, Bond’s concentration breaking when he felt Ellen nudge him in the ribs. With one final lingering look at Winfield’s retreating back, Bond reluctantly turned to follow Ellen out, aware that he may never see Winfield again after this—they could easily use mobiles to communicate, and there was no logical reason for Bond to linger in Q-Branch with no active missions coming up. Once the Riddler was finally dead, Winfield would no longer be there.

_But he’ll still be alive. And that’s what counts._

_WHACK!_

“I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine!” Winfield yelped, immediately snagging Bond’s attention. “Sorry, sorry, didn’t see the bloody desk—no, double-oh six, I’m _fine_ ,” he said, bending to the right as he rubbed his hip with one hand as he waved Alec away with the other. “Sorry about that,” he said to the nearest woman before spotting Ellen and Bond staring at him. “I’m _fine_ ,” he repeated irritably before turning back to Q.

“Looks like Alec’s work is cut out for him. At the same time, it’s nice to see that Winfield’s spatial memory is still intact despite everything he’s faced up to this point,” Ellen remarked, watching as Winfield dodged a stack of papers before waving Alec off yet again. She shook her head before gesturing that Bond follow her.

“His what?” Bond asked as the two of them began walking again.

“Spatial memory. Remember how, in the past, when Winfield ever talked about something complex relating to a gadget or system, he’d always move around the branch without ever really looking?” Ellen asked, risking a final glance over her shoulder before the Q-Branch doors closed behind them with a dull _thud_.

“Yes, I remember. He hated it when I interfered with his walk. The last time I ever did, he changed my security codes and it took me several hours to get into my own bloody flat,” Bond replied as he followed Ellen down the corridor. “What about it?”

“Spatial memory is the part of the memory responsible for memorizing environment and orientation, it’s how you and I can navigate London without needing a map. Likewise, it’s how Winfield learned to navigate Q-Branch, both then and now. In the past, however, his _muscle_ memory learned the layout so he could walk without thinking about it at all. He could talk and walk at the same time,” Ellen explained, glancing back at the closed doors. “Unfortunately, the current Q must have changed the physical layout of the branch in the past seven months, contradicting what Winfield remembers. So his spatial memory now will theoretically keep him from doing more harm than a bumped hip but since he’s talking to Q now, he’s relying more on muscle memory than spatial. A muscle memory that is accustomed to the original layout of the branch,” she said, and Bond winced sympathetically at the thought.

“Where will he stay overnight?” he asked, glancing at Ellen to see a flicker of hesitation in her eyes. “He’s not leaving headquarters,” he said firmly, turning to face her.

“He’ll be in the ward for long-term care, O’Reilly will set up a room for him if he hasn’t already,” Ellen replied calmly, arching an eyebrow at Bond’s stance. “Double-oh six, of course, will have unrestricted access to continue carrying out his duties. M stipulated that if Winfield was in the presence of another MI6 employee, such as Q, double-oh six can take a break and rest.” She hesitated, and then said, “If you want, I can ask O’Reilly to grant you access to the room as well, we know how close the two of you were.”

Bond shook his head. “No, don’t. In fact, take my name off of any of his records since he won’t remember naming me as his next of kin and emergency contact. He might think it’s another attempt on MI6’s part to control him otherwise, and it was difficult enough at Skyfall to convince him that M wasn’t going to arrest him on the spot,” he said, leaning back on a foot as Ellen nodded thoughtfully.

“Only Q and O’Reilly can access those records,” she said finally, looking up at him. “After Paris, Winfield’s files were heavily encrypted and sealed away in the servers in order to protect him in case anyone tried to find out if he was the former Quartermaster. Only Q can access those records now, and only O’Reilly can alter them. Last I checked, O’Reilly was in the ICU checking on a few patients, but since he has to check you over anyway, you can talk to him about it then,” she said as they resumed walking back to Medical. “I’ll take you back to the room you were in earlier today so that O’Reilly can look at your charts.

“And I can’t simply go find him because?”

 “Mallory’s predecessor ordered years ago that it was forbidden for all double-ohs to remain anywhere in Medical where they had no business being. We’ve never had an issue with that order because double-ohs are usually too focused on escaping than breaking in,” Ellen said, brushing some hair out of her face as Bond carefully walked a little faster than her. She frowned and said, “Bond, that rule does apply to you too.”

“I would hope so, given I’ve been a double-oh agent for years now. Thank you, however, for telling me where O’Reilly is, I think it might be easier to approach him directly instead of waiting,” Bond replied easily as he took the last few steps to Medical, crossing the threshold well ahead of Ellen and closing the double doors on her. He approached the front desk in swift strides that scattered what staff was present, and took what looked like a broken IV stand from a frozen nurse. He slid the stand through the door handles and stepped back in time for the doors to rattle violently.

“ _James fucking Bond, let me in or so help me God I will call M himself down here!”_ Ellen shouted through the doors as she tried to shove them open. Bond merely straightened his jacket before turning to leave the lobby, a few staff members backing away as he approached them.

“Let her back in once I’ve been gone for five minutes,” he said, pausing long enough to offer a charismatic smile to the nearest nurse, who flushed red but nodded mutely before stepping back. Then he turned and headed down the hall towards the ICU and long-term care wards, calmly brushing aside the two staff members who attempted to either slow him down or take him back to his room for further examination.

Bond remained silent as he rounded the corner into the less familiar corridor, already unnerved at the level of silence in this part of Medical; he rarely ever came down here—or stayed—as a patient himself. Every sound he made echoed off the walls, grating on his nerves but he tampered down the instinctive reaction to reach for a gun he did not have. O’Reilly, he knew, occasionally used the ward as a place for MI6 staff to stay if they had nowhere else to go or needed quiet and isolation, there were no threats here. Large windows overlooking the Thames were now washed with gray, obscuring the river and city skyline, but Bond knew from constant tests that the glass was thick enough to withstand direct assaults.

_He’ll be safe here, and he can be alone if he wants to be._

Bond slowed his pace at the first open room door, glancing around the frame to see if O’Reilly was inside.

“Who are you looking for?”

At the familiar voice, Bond glanced over his shoulder but stopped when he spotted Tess Lawson huddled on the window seat that ran along the length of the corridor. She watched him carefully from where her chin rested on her knees, covered by the white gown she wore in addition to a black hairnet that kept her loose hair from her face. She shuffled backwards to offer Bond a seat, and he caught sight of bare feet before she shifted to sit cross-legged facing him as he sat down. She glanced at the bandages underneath his shirt and jacket and made a face. “What is with you and that shoulder?” she asked, making a face.

“At least it was a shorter fall this time,” Bond said, leaning back against the cool glass.

“So I heard.” She was quiet for a moment. “I heard him too. Winfield. He called for you several times when he woke up. Everything reverberates in here. O’Reilly won’t let me scream in here, but it’s so goddamn quiet and I hate that so much. Miller lets me do it in his office though, says it’s healthy,” she whispered, shrugging with a shoulder.

Bond took note of the dark circles under her eyes and slumped shoulders. “He came back to you, didn’t he? Before you tried to kill him,” he asked, spotting the minute flinch despite never directly naming the man in question—there was no need, when they both knew whom Bond spoke of.

After a moment, she nodded. “I had to take Alec back to my flat that night, he was injured and the Met was already racing MI6 to the scene. I didn’t know who would arrive first. Winfield took my car, and Alec accidentally dropped his keys while on the fire escape, he’d just gotten back from a date. We ended up hotwiring someone’s car after smashing the window. Lee was there, at my flat, bleeding all over my couch, when we arrived. Said he was mugged, but his gun was gone. Then I asked Lee why he didn’t have his gun when both he and Alec had the same bullets on their persons,” she quietly explained, running the fabric through two fingers as she avoided Bond’s gaze.

Bond raised an eyebrow. “What did he say?”

“Stuttered a bit, actually. Especially when I asked him why he killed Will and injured Winfield,” she said, noticing Bond stiffen. “It was in Will’s knives, James, the double-bladed ones he loved to use. You had the first one and Martin had the second for your mission to Sydney. I had the third one, when Edd Holton tried to kill Winfield that night.” Leaning back, Tess said, “I…I had to take the third one, no one missed it and no one would particularly _care_ that it was missing…”

“So you _knew_ the entire fucking time that it was Lee?” Bond growled, starting to stand up.

Tess shook her head. “I wasn’t there, I thought one of the Riddler’s men survived only to be killed later,” she said, straightening up as Bond slowly sat back down again. “I asked Heather Nelson to locate the results of the forensics examinations only two weeks after Paris. I wanted to know the name of the bastard who killed Will,” she said, lowering her voice as she glanced reflexively towards a nearby security camera. “The only weapons present at Will’s death were Reardon’s gun and Will’s three knives. Not one had foreign fingerprints on it, only Will’s or Reardon’s and in one case, Winfield’s. Why would Winfield hold the knife that ended up in Reardon? Why would he throw it at Reardon in the first place when Reardon was supposed to be an ally?”

Bond stared at her. _How the hell did I miss that?_

He didn’t realize he’d spoken aloud until Tess said, “You were angry and upset, and you weren’t focused on anything except Winfield’s welfare, something you had a hand in for the two months after Paris. Winfield only confirmed what I suspected when he told me, the day of Holton’s attack, that he remembered being underground in Paris with two men he thought were allies, but one tried to kill him. So he had the scenario…”

“And we had the names and outcome,” Bond finished, closing his eyes briefly. “And I assume that after the confrontation, you chased Reardon to the Eurostar station.”

“To be fair, he went there, I just followed,” Tess said, leaning back again. “You should thank Winfield, he fucked up Reardon’s collarbone and probably saved your life when Reardon couldn’t aim properly,” she said after a moment.

“After I remove myself from his medical records, I will. I need him to trust MI6 instead of assuming that we’re still trying to control him through me. He doesn’t need to know about the level of my previous involvement with his medical care,” Bond said, glancing down the hall for O’Reilly and ignoring the small sound of displeasure from Tess as he stood up.

“He’s going to think, and rightly so, that you’re actively hiding important information like that from him. And when he finds out, he’s going to be annoyed that you decided to control what was best for him to know, without asking for his input. Hell, didn’t he already yell at you once about doing that?” she said, voice dropping several degrees as she unfolded herself from her seat and moved to stand in front of him

“Loud disagreement in public,” Bond clarified as he tried to step around her. “And he’s not exactly in a position to stop me now.”

“If you have _any_ respect for him left, James, you wouldn’t _dare_ ,” Tess growled as she blocked him again. “If you gave a _damn_ about—”

She fell promptly silent when Bond reached out and rested a hand around her throat, right underneath her jaw. He tilted her head up to face him before he whispered, “I’m not Will, it would do you some good to remember that,” he said, keeping his voice soft. “Above all, I want Winfield _safe_. This is his second chance and he’s not fully aware of the dangers that he used to know and face on a daily basis, including those close to home,” he said, instinctively gesturing to her and himself before shaking his head. “In order to keep him safe, I need him to trust MI6, long enough for Reardon and the Riddler to die. If he sees my name as his next of kin, he will assume that MI6 did that on purpose to keep him under MI6 watch during his recovery. All because he doesn’t fucking remember how I asked him to be my next of kin and he did the reverse as well, to know that I would be there for him. Yes, I am going to keep that information from him because he needs to _heal_ without outside interference. A clean break will help everyone.”

Tess stared at him for a moment before gently pulling herself free, eyes lowered in defeat as she rubbed her jaw. “I’m beginning to think that Winfield isn’t the only one who doesn’t believe that his partner will come back to him,” she muttered under her breath, massaging her neck as she took a step away. She tensed briefly when they both heard approaching footsteps, but she relaxed a moment later when O’Reilly appeared around the corner with Miller, the MI6 psychiatrist, in tow.

The doctor scowled when he saw the two of them, and said, “Well, this certainly saves me the trouble of finding you double-oh seven, but if I catch you harassing Lawson again, it’s your head.” He turned to Tess before he said, “Feel free to decline, but M wants to see the two of you for a mini-assignment on British soil.”

“Only if you feel up to it,” Miller clarified, glancing between the two of them. “It’s a quick rendezvous with an informant that already knows the two of you.”

 _Rat_. Bond glanced at Tess, who sighed. “I’m up for one more run,” she said finally, turning back to Miller.

“What does M want from the informant?” Bond asked, turning to O’Reilly.

“That’s something you’ll have to discuss with him and Q, we can discuss _your_ request first. Ellen intercepted me at the front desk,” O’Reilly said, turning to face Bond. “And we’ll discuss it when I’m checking your injuries over, you stick out a little too much with the bandages,” he added, gesturing that Bond follow him back to ICU.

“Then take them off,” Bond said as he reluctantly followed O’Reilly, eager to escape his verbal opponent and the psychiatrist. He glanced at Tess once more and noted the still-present frown for a split second before turning to deny Tess the satisfaction of seeing that she hit a little too close to home.

 _The sooner I alter his information, the better_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for being two days late with this one!


	29. Chapter 29

“Here, I believe these are yours.”

“Thank you,” Alex said, leaning forward to take the white cardboard box that Q had procured from underneath his desk. Standing up, he carefully pried the lid off to examine the contents, all of which initially appeared untouched. He breathed a small sigh of relief when he recognized the jacket on top, and pulled it out and turned it over to search for the memory drive he’d stashed there before the attack. “The Riddler’s entire system,” he said, holding it up for Q to see. “If you have a laptop with a clean hard drive, I can get started on finishing the decryptions, there are quite a few lists on there.”

“If you like, I can give you four or five techs to assist with the decryption, get more done in less time,” Q offered. “It wouldn’t be an issue since this does constitute as a mission, and I could pull the techs back if I need them for an emergency here. We currently have a few agents overseas, but we’re in the middle of a lull right now.”

“Only if you can spare them. In that case, I’ll also need a few extra monitors that we can hook up to one operating system,” Alex said as he put the jacket back and replaced the lid. Tucking the memory drive into his pocket, he pushed the box back to Q. “Inside are two laptops. The intact one is the one I had from RIE but used to examine the Riddler’s memory drive, so I was never sure of its security afterwards. The smashed one is the one I took from MI6 staff a while ago, I thought it was mine.”

“It was. The laptop, I mean,” Q said, gesturing jerkily towards the box. “We could never get in, and we didn’t want to risk blowing it up. We only needed to get in to—”

“Examine the data and see what you missed, in case it can help provide previously-retained information or otherwise provide another angle to the mission, I know,” Alex finished, standing up as he nudged the box closer to Q. “Although, in this case, there was nothing on there except schematics, blueprints, tracking programs, and not all of it related to MI6 tasks. There is a tracking program with Reardon on it, so you’ll want that one. Fee free to search the other laptop, although there isn’t anything helpful there.”

Q remained quiet for a moment, and Alex waited patiently for the question he could see hovering in Q’s eyes. Instead, Q stood up and took the box and stowed it underneath his desk. “I can get you your other possessions back when you want them,” he said, gesturing for Alex to follow him out of the vaguely familiar office. “In the meantime, R will assist you and help you set up with the techs,” he said as they left the office and onto the main floor. He signaled R over, and then turned to Alex again. “Out of curiosity, what was the password to the MI6 laptop? We’ll need it to get safely into the system…”

“Seven-zero-zero-two-zero-zero-one,” Alex recited as R approached the two of them. He glanced at Q and said, “Don’t tell James though, he’s still figuring it out.”

Q snickered quietly before he said, “Of course, sir.”

Alex blinked at the use of the honorific, but a quick glance at Q showed that that the other man apparently didn’t notice the slip, so Alex didn’t call attention to it. R smiled as she stood in front of them, and Q said, “Can you assist Mr. Winfield? He needs four techs and five monitors, they’re going to simultaneously decrypt different aspects of the Riddler’s work.”

“All right, sir. Does that mean you’ll be assisting M? I just received a memo from him saying that double-oh seven and Agent Lawson need outfitting for a small assignment here in London,” she said, Alex perking up at the mention of the two agents.

“What do they need?” Q asked, frowning.

“Two earpieces and a gun. They are arranging a rendezvous with an informant for either tonight or tomorrow night here in London,” R explained, passing a slip of paper to Q. She turned to Alex and smiled. “If you will, Mr. Winfield?”

Alex nodded, and then followed her to a corner of the branch that had an empty workstation that comfortably accommodated five chairs and the requested monitors. A bench, presumably for Trevelyan, sat nearby as well, and Alex glanced across the branch to where Trevelyan had been ‘banished’ when he’d been caught heckling a few staff while Q, Alex and R were talking right before the former two went into Q’s office. He easily caught Trevelyan’s eye, and gestured for him to move closer. R, meanwhile, snagged the four nearest techs and pulled them to the empty workstation, where a fifth tech set up the requested monitors before reaching for the computer tower. “Mr. Winfield is your immediate supervisor for the duration of this project,” R said, leaning on the table to stare at the techs in turn as Alex walked around the table. “If you have questions, direct them to him.” She straightened as Alex stood in front of the middle monitor. “Will you require anything else, sir?”

“Not at the moment, but thank you though,” Alex said as a tech nudged the tower underneath the table. After R nodded and then walked away, he knelt to reach underneath the table to insert the memory stick and attach each of the five monitors to the tower. He started to back out from underneath the table, but froze when he felt a hand rest on the back of his head. “Trevelyan, I’m telling you right now that this will get old quickly,” he said, carefully backing out the rest of the way before standing up again.

“Ellen, O’Reilly, M, and James will have my head if you hit yours again,” Trevelyan warned even when Alex scowled at him. He raised his hands in mock surrender before retreating to the bench.

“Well, lucky for us then that should be the only time I have to kneel here,” Alex said before checking the monitors as his techs powered them up. Pleased to see that each registered the memory stick, he said, “Now listen carefully. The Riddler’s data is split into several large categories, such as audio transcripts, personnel lists, equipment lists, et cetera.” Glancing between the techs on either side of them— _I think I know their names_ —he continued, saying, “I suspect each section has a different decryption code, and I only have keys for two since I needed to decrypt some information on my own. I’ll get those two categories going again and check on them from time to time. Whatever you do, _do not connect to MI6 servers_. I don’t know if there are embedded viruses or not, but I’d rather not risk it.” He hesitated, and then asked, “Any questions?”

“Should we keep an eye out for anything in particular, sir?”  the woman closest to him— _Anne_ —asked.

“Names, dates, locations. Family connections may be useless since the Riddler uses anagrams and probably other tricks to conceal that specific information,” Alex replied. “He uses riddles for his passwords, so watch your step if you find one. We don’t want to accidentally delete anything.”

“Of course, sir,” another tech— _Henry—_ replied as he opened the corresponding window on his own screen.

As his window loaded, Alex leaned forward and opened a text doc and began typing what he remembered from the decryption codes, pretending for a moment that he was back in his flat at the kitchenette counter staring at his laptop screen. He moved one digit at a time, trying not to tax his memory too much too soon.

_Bang!_

Alex looked up sharply and froze in place, a momentary terror grasping his heart and limbs as he searched desperately for the gun. He dimly heard approaching footsteps from behind, and turned quickly as he reached for the nonexistent gun at his side. Trevelyan paused in his tracks for a second before showing him empty palms. “Unarmed,” he said quietly before approaching Alex slowly. “It’s all right, you’re in Q-Branch. That was just the sound of a door slamming closed,” Trevelyan said as Anne pushed her chair aside so he could move a little closer to Alex.

Alex nodded, ignoring the slight flush creeping up his neck. _A door. Just a bloody door_. “I’ll be fine, just give me a moment,” he murmured, glancing across the room to find not only M, but also James and Tess standing near Q, the two administrators in full swing of a hushed argument. “Did they just come in?” he whispered after a moment, forcing himself to breathe in and out in an effort to calm down before James noticed.

“Yes—Jack, please go ask them not to slam the door on the way out,” Trevelyan said, turning to the tech at the end of the row. “Then get some chamomile from the kitchens on the way back.”

Alex frowned as Jack left. “He was in the middle of working.”

“I know, but getting tea will be quick. Do you want to go somewhere quiet? I imagine that M will want to talk to you, but I can ask him to wait until you’re up to the conversation,” Trevelyan offered, glancing at M for a moment right as James looked over his shoulder. Alex smiled in time as James faced him, but the agent merely nodded once before turning back to M and Q.

“No, it won’t be necessary. Thank you for the offer though,” Alex said, swallowing the slight sting as he sat down for once. Trevelyan nodded before returning to his bench. “Thank you for the tea,” he said as Jack set the mug down beside him. He glanced back up at the two agents, who were accepting equipment from Q, and then shook his head. “He’ll never get those back,’ he muttered under his breath as he went back to his work.

“I don’t know, they’re not going far from what I understand,” Anne muttered back as she typed in a few more commands. “I also don’t think Q will mind all that much, Bond seems to be in a good mood for once. It’s a refreshing change from his surly attitude over the last few months.”

“Probably because someone is about to get murdered if he hasn’t already,” Alex said, glancing at his neighbor.

“It could be that you’re back,” she said, elbowing him gently in the ribs.

Alex snorted. “No, I doubt it, I felt like there were times he was closed off and moody during our time at Skyfall. Mostly when we discussed his current partner, which was maybe a little too frequent for his comfort. He’s also withheld information from me, but I only let it slide because for one, it’s not my business and two, I trust him to tell me if it's important to me or not, especially after he said he wouldn’t lie to me,” Alex replied, ignoring the sinking disappointment in his chest as he watched James and Tess leave, James catching the door in time and closing it gently with a faint _click_. He shook his head and said, “If he’s happy to see me, it’s probably because I’m doing him a hell of a favor,” he said, frowning when he spotted the blinking red ‘ERROR’ message at the top of Anne’s screen. “You might want to check your work, you can repeat it back to me if you need to talk aloud,” he said, pointing to the few lines of her code that he could see.

“Shit.” Anne turned back to her work, frowning as she reviewed the last few lines.

As he leaned forward again, Alex saw Trevelyan shift in his seat out of the corner of his eye, his only warning as Mallory— _M_ —approached the workstation. Alex straightened in his seat even as the others shifted in acknowledgement to the director’s appearance. He inclined his head before he said, “Sir, it is good to see that you are well.” He may be assisting Q-Branch in an evidently valued position, but he hadn’t forgotten that he’d threatened M over the phone while at Skyfall.

M offered a think smile as he stood in front of the workstation; he hadn’t forgotten the threats either. “Mr. Winfield, it’s good to see you are well again. I trust there weren’t any issues setting up in here?” he asked as Tanner— _Chief of Staff, but still very friendly_ —appeared at his side.

Alex nodded even as he checked the decryption progress on his screen. “The two laptops are with the Quartermaster, I gave him all the necessary login information,” he said, watching M carefully.

M nodded. “And I’ll of course uphold my end of the bargain and allow you to leave unmolested,” he said, calmly ignoring the interested expressions of the techs present. “Unless, however, you’d be willing to stay after all is said and done?” he suggested, catching Alex off-guard even as the latter forward to tap his other neighbor’s computer in a not-so-subtle reminder to get back to work.

Alex hesitated, sorely tempted to point out that he already knew he’d worked for MI6 before Paris, but he suspected that M already knew that he knew. _Hell, he could be offering now because he doesn’t want me to go rogue on him, like Silva. I wonder what would happen if I refused_. Aware that verbal assurances of loyalty to England would not reassure the director, he instead said, “I will keep your offer in mind, sir, but I do not have a definite answer for you yet.” Keeping his voice level as he maintained eye contact, he added, “I was under the assumption that we do still have a problem to deal with right now.”

“Indeed, and that happens to be the reason I want to talk to you now. Are you familiar with Lucas Stafford?” M asked calmly.

“The American ambassador? Yes, he was the father to a friend of mine from uni, Alana,” Alex said, watching M carefully for any reaction to the name. “I saw him frequently both in and outside of the U.S. embassy up until I arrived here, after which I did not see him at all until Alana’s funeral in Boston,” he added, glancing at Tanner for a moment. “Your predecessor had rather strict rules about harassing Americans, even if we knew them on a personal level.”

“Well, apparently the double-ohs complained about getting singled out too often in new policies. I can hardly imagine why,” M replied, his gaze flickering momentarily to Trevelyan behind Alex. “Anyway, Mr. Stafford recently returned from the States, and both I and Director Farrows from MI5 arranged a meeting to return Holton’s body to him and Holton’s parents for shipment back home. Despite the stab injuries—”

“All of which were done in self-defense,” Alex briefly interrupted.

“The MI5 coroner ruled the death as a suicide by the use of cyanide. With help of two psychiatric staff members, Ms. Lawson wrote and submitted her version of that night. I was wondering, as you were the second witness present, if you could write up your version of events? Both reports will be submitted along with the other paperwork to Stafford when we see him in a few days,” M said, continuing as though Alex hadn’t spoken.

Alex frowned. “When did MI5 get involved?” he asked.

“We conducted a search of Holton’s flat with permission from the Ministry of Defence on the grounds of suspected terrorism. We hoped to find a connection between him and the Riddler, but failed. We needed a MI5 officer supervising the process, as we were still on domestic soil. As it turned out, Holton was already in the process of undermining the digital security of the governments in London, Moscow, and Washington DC. My theory is that he was about to provoke all three into a second Cold War, leaving the Riddler open to do what he wanted without interference,” M explained as Tanner handed over a packet of papers— _the coroner’s report with the analysis of the search._ “Unfortunately, as there is no tangible link between him and the Riddler, and we have only his word, my theory won’t stand up in the Ministry.”

“Thank you,” Alex said, accepting the packet. “You said Holton’s parents were coming?” he said, studying the packet overview.

“His father was the one who arranged for him to work here in London, but both parents check out in terms of criminal backgrounds,” M said, nodding to the papers.

“Did Holton check out as clean?” Alex asked, raising an eyebrow when he saw the minute hesitation in M’s reaction. “Digital records can be manipulated, sir, as I’m sure you’re well aware of. I’d recommend checking them again,” he said before going back to the reports he held.

“I do have a second request, if you don’t mind,” M said, catching Alex’s attention. “I’d like you to accompany us when we go meet with Stafford, but I understand if you don’t want to,” he said, tilting his head slightly as Alex leaned back in his seat. “I do recall that you did not part well with Stafford the last time the two of you spoke.”

“More like I did, he didn’t know the difference,” Alex said carefully after a moment, still recalling the cold winter air that nearly burned his skin the last time he saw Stafford face-to-face. “I’ll go—when were you thinking of going?”

“The second, early in the afternoon. Farrows and I wanted a little more time to collect any lingering evidence before delivering it all to the ambassador since it is a plot that involves the United States,” M said, and Alex carefully set the packet down on the table. “We’ll get in touch with Moscow after and alert them to the weakened security systems. Tanner will let you know once we have a definite time, and I’ll assign double-oh two as your second bodyguard. Be forewarned that Stafford may have extra questions about what happened that night.”

“Of course, I’ll be fine,” Alex said, careful to filter out the irritation from his voice.

From M’s slightly disbelieving expression, Alex suspected he’d failed. “I do hope, Mr. Winfield, that we’ll have the opportunity to speak again soon, and in my office,” he said, straightening from where he’d leaned on the table.

Alex nodded, keeping an impassive expression. “Of course, sir,” he said, resisting the urge to drum his fingers against the table as M left their table, Tanner nodding once to Alex as he followed M. Biting back a sigh, Alex rubbed his temples as he watched the slow decryption turn up name after name. Alex suspected that the Riddler would not have been stupid as to put his own name down.

_I need more data._

Reaching forward, he took the packet that M gave him and studied the coroner’s report, noting that while all of the information was present, his and Tess’s names had been removed. He flipped through the analysis of the items found in Holton’s flat, pausing long enough to study the list. Each technological item had been cleared in terms of damning data; Holton evidently had used them only for his job at RIE except an ancient desktop with recent software, where he’d accessed the government mainframes. All numbers checked out as other RIE employees, all from the United Kingdom, the only exception being Reardon, which MI6 already knew about.

_He had to be getting his orders from somewhere; the Riddler put him there, gave him orders, how did he keep contact with his employers in order to report back my actions? Was he using RIE, the way he did the night he caught me? Dead drop? Third party? Reardon? No, not Reardon, MI6 would have caught on faster if Reardon was constantly seen with another person or had unexplained absences. Too risky._

“Something wrong, sir?”

“What? Oh, no, no, no. Just wondering how Holton would have been able to keep in touch with the Riddler if all his devices came up clean except for Reardon, which we already knew about by the time of the search,” Alex said, closing the report and setting it down.

“I can send an email to Bond so he knows it’s something we’re keeping an eye out for,” Anne suggested.

“Please do, we may not have much time to act on it even now,” Alex said, quietly pleased to find that one of his lists had finished, complete with a list of thirty-three individuals in the command structure alone.

_Time to move onto the next step._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies about missing last week's post, we had a cousin of mine over and it was like watching a whirlwind of toddler energy all weekend.


	30. Chapter 30

“Where are we meeting Rat tonight?”

“His flat, Lynn said that he’s lying low for now because of ‘numerous disruptions in the market’,” Tess said, typing an address into the GPS system before reaching forward to set it in its little stand on the dashboard. “I interpreted that to mean someone high up on the criminal hierarchy, assuming there _is_ one, is either on a rampage or is systematically hunting people down for some reason or another,” she explained as she turned the device on and leaned back, drawing her coat tighter around herself. She glanced at Bond and said, “When I last texted Rat, he said he’d been in Vienna and Strasbourg after Sydney, but returned to London out of fear for his life.”

“Did he say who was trying to kill him and why?” Bond asked, glancing at her even as he started the car.

Tess rolled her eyes. “Knowing Rat, it could be anyone from the worst criminals to the little old lady next door,” she said dismissively as Bond pulled out into the street, blending in seamlessly with night traffic. She sighed, and then said, “I should probably tell him that after this, I will no longer be available as someone to talk to, just in case he gets the wrong idea and tries to contact me again.”

“M might want you to stay on as an unofficial informant,” Bond warned.

“He wouldn’t _dare_ ,” Tess replied calmly as she zipped her coat up the rest of the way. “He promised to leave me alone after I left,” she said in a softer voice after a moment of silence. “He _promised_.”

Bond didn’t reply to that.

The GPS led them towards Nottingham Hill, where the street side windows of shops and flats were darkened due to the late hour. Bond pulled into a small driveway of a five-storied flat building, and leaned forward to turn the device off. He leaned forward to look at the windows, and then turned to Tess. “Which one is his?” he asked quietly as Tess leaned forward as well, silently counting to herself as her eyes scanned from left to right. Several windows had shades pulled down, but none had light shining through the glass, and Bond silently checked both sides of the building that he could see just in case there was an ambush.

_Even if no one but MI6 knows we’re here._

“He’s on the third storey, but it doesn’t look like anyone is home,” she said after a moment, frowning as she unbuckled her safety belt. “Turn the car off; just because the lights are off doesn’t mean that he isn’t here,” she said, opening her door right as Bond put the car into reverse. “ _Bond!_ What the hell?” she demanded, fingers clamped tightly over the doorframe to brace herself.

“It could be a trap,” he warned, foot still resting on the brake.

“That’s why _you_ have the bloody gun, idiot,” she snapped before stepping out onto the pavement and closing her door with a loud _slam_.

Bond sighed before turning the car off, watching Tess’s figure approaching the front door before bending to examine the list of addresses taped next to the doorbell. “Still there?” he asked quietly as he unfastened his own safety belt.

“ _Yes, I am. Check in will occur in twenty minutes. If you get static, that’s your cue to leave,_ ” Q said, a faint clicking sound audible on his end through Bond’s earpiece. “ _One more thing, agents, before you start._ ”

 _“Oh? And what would that be?_ ” Tess asked, still poised on the doorstep.

 _“Ask Rat if he knows how Edd Ferris Holton communicated with the Riddler. It’s something that came up in the labs yesterday, but I didn’t want to ask you until you both confirmed that you were going to speak to Rat,”_ Q admitted as Bond checked the safety on his Walther before getting out of the car.

“Will do. Anything else?” Bond asked, careful to keep his voice down.

“ _Not for now. Be careful, both of you_ ,” Q said calmly before signing off the link with an audible _click_.

“Aren’t I always?” Bond muttered under his breath as he began walking up to the doorstep.

Tess had already picked the lock open by the time he joined her. “Don’t want to tip him off that we’re here in case he changed his mind and planned to run before we got to him,” she whispered, gesturing for Bond to lead the way. She slipped into the front hall right after him, quietly closing the door behind herself. “We’ll never see him again otherwise. We also shouldn’t take long, you and I are known to be associates of Winfield’s, and the moment the Riddler catches on that we’re out in the open, it will be open season for _him_.”

“I don’t want to take long anyway, I want to strike the Riddler’s associates before Rat can tip them off,” Bond replied quietly as he checked around the corner of the stairs leading to the first storey. “In fact, I’d feel much better if we could permanently remove Rat as a risk.”

“We can’t do that, because we rely on his information as much as the Americans,” Tess whispered back as she followed Bond up the first set of stairs, stopping to let him check around the corner for potential threats before proceeding again. “I can work out a deal with him, how is that? If you haven’t noticed yet, he’s practically tripping over himself to please me. So I’ll work out a deal with him. Or give him more interesting, but false, information than Winfield,” she said as they slowly began walking up the next set of stairs. She sounded calmer now, which was a relief. The mission at hand, despite the proximity in topic, had taken her mind off of Reardon, which was what Bond hoped for. He was just beginning to relax again— _second storey clear_ —when she whispered, “How is Alex handling the transition?”

 _No, not this again, not when we’re in the middle of something_. He still recalled watching Alex out of the corner of his eye, the younger man comfortably sliding back into his role as a leader as he directed his few, albeit temporary, underlings through the Riddler’s networks. Even though he stood behind his own monitor, he still leaned over to check his neighbors’ screens, and the sight had nearly left Bond breathless with pain as he realized he would never see Alex in Q-Branch again after the mission’s completion. Bond also hadn’t missed the way Alex whispered with his neighbor, the two of them glancing his way every so often. “He’s handling the transition just fine,” he said after a moment as he began the first set of stairs to the third storey.

“Is he? Have you spoken to him at all since he’s woken up?” Tess asked, moving to walk beside him.

“He’s _fine_ ,” Bond growled, pausing on the top stair—was that creak above him from a foot or a settling floorboard?

“So no, you haven’t spoken to him?”

“Tess, _please_ be quiet,” Bond said, keeping his voice down as he shifted his weight and switched off the Walther’s safety; there were definitely footsteps above them, a faint _thud_ of a door closing, and approaching taps towards the stairs. Tess caught on, and then silently moved to the bottom of the step, poised to run at a moment’s notice. The footsteps were now approaching the landing between the stories, accompanied with the gentle _slosh_ of what sounded like water in a bowl or another container.

“Christ!”

Lynn Smith, Rat’s associate, promptly dropped her bowl when she turned the corner and saw Bond standing there, looming out of the dark with a gun barrel aimed straight at her face. It took a few seconds for the recognition to appear in her eyes, and she said, “You again? What in God’s name are you doing here?”

“We set up a meeting with Rat,” Tess said, quickly appearing at Bond’s side with her hands up to show that she was unarmed. Scooping up the now empty bowl, she offered it to Lynn and said, “Where is he? He knows we’re coming.”

“Yes, well, he also knows he’s not exactly in a state to receive visitors right now,” Lynn whispered, shaking her head as she took the bowl and began to retreat, gathering her long coat around herself as though to cover up the nightgown underneath. “I—I can’t give him away—”

“ _Please_ Lynn. Someone has already died and the next victim has a target on his back,” Tess said, remaining close to Bond’s side as she looked up at Lynn. “We _need_ to find out what the Riddler is going to do next before he kills someone else, the problem is that we don’t fucking know who he is or where Reardon is.”

Lynn hesitated, her eyes flickering up to the ceiling above them. She swallowed, and then asked, “Do either of you have some kind of medical training?”

“Basic field medical training, but we can always call in a friend who knows more. Who is hurt?” Tess asked, eyeing the water glistening on the ground.

Lynn raised an eyebrow. “Take a guess,” she said dryly before gesturing for Tess and Bond to follow her back up the final set of stairs.

“Oh no, what did he do this time?” Tess whispered as Bond let her take the lead.

“Nothing. He did absolutely nothing except be in the wrong place at the wrong time,” Lynn said grimly as she guided them down the hall to an unmarked door at the end. She checked back down the hall before she tapped a pattern into the wood, unlocking the door a moment later and ushering the two agents into the surprisingly empty flat except for a few pieces of furniture. She closed and locked the door before saying, “The Riddler, on the other hand, believes that Rat should have done more to protect his son.”

“Except that he wasn’t paying me to be the idiot’s babysitter,” a voice growled from behind the three of them.

Bond reached for his gun as he turned around, refusing to relax even when he spotted Rat lying stomach-down on the sofa, a soaked white towel covering his back. Chin propped up on the armrest, the American blinked as though to stay awake only to stifle a yawn. “I have enough to do without having to mind some kid who didn’t _want_ me around in the first place except when he needed someone to complain to or deliver messages.”

“Like in Sydney,” Bond said, recalling the conversation with the Riddler’s double.

Tess, meanwhile, had walked over to where Rat lay. “Don’t fucking touch my back,” Rat hissed as she started to reach for the towel. “I still haven’t recovered from the hydrogen peroxide, it stings like _hell_ and that was almost an hour ago.”

“Trust me, I know. May I see it?” Tess asked patiently as Bond checked the flat for any threats before returning to the living room.

“Just don’t touch.”

Bond watched as Tess pulled back the soaked sheet to reveal angry red skin covered in welts. He didn’t miss the sharp inhalation from both Tess and Rat, and then he asked, “What the hell happened?”

Rat stretched as Lynn returned with a box of medications. “Well,” he finally began, “After Sydney, I went first to Vienna, and then Strasbourg to find Joaquin Ramirez. I just wanted to see if he was still interested in doing business even though he didn’t go to Sydney this year. I was in the middle of delicate negotiations when the Riddler, the _real_ Riddler mind you, showed up. Unannounced I might add.”

“Are you sure it was the real Riddler?” Bond asked warily.

“Yeah, Señor Ramirez confirmed it. Something about a watch the Riddler owns; it’s got a picture of his two kids on its face. The meeting was bloody and got violent only after Kaminski was physically hauled out of the city with Amatore, they’d both come with the Riddler. All in all, the Riddler blamed Señor Ramirez for everything that went wrong and for the deaths of the Riddler’s agents, regardless of who actually killed them,” Rat said twisting slightly to glance at Tess. “I, uh, just didn’t leave the scene fast enough.”

“And here I thought the Riddler wanted funding from Señor Ramirez,” Tess muttered, accepting the box from Lynn and opening it.

“Oh, he still does. He just thinks that if Señor Ramirez had given him the money when he asked for it, he could have been able to save his son in time,” Rat said crossly as Tess opened an ointment jar. “But no, his son gets poisoned and _I_ get the blame for it, even though _nowhere_ in our agreements did it say that I had to keep him alive and— _fuck,”_ he swore when Tess applied the first layer of ointment.

“Rat, who was the Riddler’s son?” Bond asked quietly, never looking away from the American.

Rat eyed him warily before resting his chin on the sofa arm. “And why should I tell you that, Mr. Whishaw?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “Do you know how _valuable_ that information is? What could you possibly have that I could want in return?”

“The location of the MI6 tech that the Riddler wanted,” Bond said, ignoring Tess, who had looked up sharply at his words.

Rat narrowed his eyes. “No one has seen the kid since he disappeared a week or so ago, around right after Holton died,” he said slowly, glancing at Tess, who replaced her innocent expression right as he looked at her. He glanced at Bond, who stared back. “You really know where he is?” he asked suspiciously, eyes narrowing.

“And I think we both know that the Riddler would pay very well for that sort of information,” Bond said, relaxing back in his chair. “The MI6 tech in exchange for the son’s name.”

Rat pursed his lips for a moment, carefully regarding Bond before he nodded. “Deal,” he said, wriggling himself before extracting a hand and extending it.

Bond shook the hand, and then tightened his grip slightly before he whispered, “You first.”

“Crafty bastard, aren’t you?” Rat said, twisting slightly to wedge his hand back in its place so that Tess could continue applying the ointment and bandages. He glanced at her as though to confirm that not only she was there, but would hold Bond to his word to fulfill his end of the bargain. He slowly exhaled, and then said, “Edd Holton introduced himself to me as the Riddler’s son, back a few months before Paris happened. He was supposed to integrate himself into the civic structure somehow to ease the Riddler’s way for something, and he was going to pay me several hundred American dollars to deliver messages.” He twisted to face Tess, who had turned pale, and then said, “He kind of looked like a miniature version of his father, if you ask me.”

“And the Riddler had only one child?” Bond pressed, ignoring the curling ice in his gut.

“No, there were actually two, but one’s been dead for several years by now.” Rat looked at Bond and said, “Now I told you who the son was, now spill about the MI6 tech. Where is he?”

“James—” Tess began, moving towards Bond with a hand curled into a fist.

“He’s dead,” Bond interrupted, watching Rat’s mouth drop open as Tess stilled. “The MI6 tech is dead, he succumbed to head trauma and fatal injuries to collarbone and neck when Reardon shot him a few days ago. He never woke from the coma. I was there when the med teams took him away,” he said, his voice calm and steady.

Rat abruptly sat straight up in his seat, ignoring Tess’s cry of dismay as her work promptly slid down to the sofa cushions. “ _Dead?_ What do you mean, he’s _dead_?” Rat demanded, raising his arms to grasp his hair. “How the hell do you know that?”

Bond merely smiled. “I have a friend, we’ll say, who is on the part time medical staff that works occasionally with MI6 and likes to vent about his work when we go for drinks every two evenings,” he said, smirking as Rat gaped at him.

 _“Damn_ , and I thought the tech would get away,” he said, sinking back onto the sofa, flinching when his skin made contact with the bandages and the towel. “ _Ew_ …”

“You shouldn’t have moved,” Tess snapped as she placed her hand on the back of his neck and forced him down the rest of the way.

“Do you think it’s possible to infiltrate MI6 Medical and break into SIS headquarters that way?” Rat asked, suddenly perking up at the thought.

“Only if you don’t expect to return,” Tess replied with a thin smile, scowling briefly at Bond, who shrugged with one shoulder in response.

_Beep!_

“That’s me,” Bond said, checking his watch to see that fifteen minutes had already passed. “I’m going to step out into the hall for a moment, won’t be long,” he said before leaving the flat altogether.

He headed down the stairs back to ground level and walked back towards the car, already dialing the number for Q-Branch on his mobile. Checking around the car for potential interlopers, he unlocked it and slid inside right as the ringing phone was finally picked up on the other end.

 _“Hello?_ ”

“Q? Please tell me you caught all of that conversation,” Bond said, leaning back in his seat as he locked the doors again and readjusted the rearview mirror.

 _“I did. It’s been recorded and I will hand deliver it to M first thing tomorrow morning. Out of curiosity, how did you plan to keep Winfield out of sight when he’s out of headquarters? He’s not exactly confined to the premises at the moment, he just has to have double-oh six as his escort,”_ Q said very softly into the microphone.

Bond was quiet for a moment, considering his two options. Then he asked, “Can you still access Winfield’s medical records?”

More silence, and then Q whispered, “ _You want to know if you’re still listed as his emergency contact.”_

“Exactly. Is Winfield within earshot or something?”

Muffled footsteps on Q’s end, and then the sound of a door closing with an audible _snap_. Then there was the sound of the rolling desk chair moving back and the _creak_ as Q sat down. “ _He’s working down here with some of the Q-Branch newcomers on the night staff, on a few decoding projects_ ,” Q said, his voice back to normal volume. “ _He said he couldn’t sleep so he wanted to be down here. He said he’d stay out of the way, but I suggested that he work with some of the newcomers so that he has something to take his mind off whatever is bothering him. Double-oh six is here too, dozing I think._ ”

“That’s odd,” Bond murmured, thinking back to their brief stay at Skyfall. “He only slept with me once—actuallyslept—and seemed to sleep well enough then,” he remarked, resting an elbow on the edge of the car window.

“ _Really? That’s weird, he said he slept just as badly at Skyfall as he does now, except for one night, but he didn’t elaborate._ ” Silence, and then, “ _I’m in his records. Well, the last edits made on his files were made on Tuesday, when he was admitted back into MI6 care under Redding’s recommendations and treated for the gunshot wound to the shoulder. But there are no changes to your duties, double-oh seven, not yet._ ”

“That was two days ago,” Bond said, frowning. “O’Reilly hasn’t gotten around to it yet?”

“ _No, because I haven’t quite gotten around to delivering Winfield’s files to him yet,”_ Q casually replied as he typed something out on his computer. “ _I suspect that I won’t be able to get around to that until the end of the week, I’m afraid I’m monitoring far too many missions to deal with that at the moment. Delicate matters, I’m sure you understand,”_ he said, not sounding apologetic enough in Bond’s ears.

Bond closed his eyes, and counted to ten. Counted to twenty and back, until the urge to murder someone faded away to the point where he could lean over and unlock the passenger door for Tess without thinking of how to best storm Q-Branch and coerce Q into compliance without creating _too_ much of a scene. Slowly exhaling, he didn’t move as Tess quietly buckled herself in before gently reaching across from him and removing the Walther from its holster. “Q, those files had better be in O’Reilly’s possession by tomorrow morning or there will be hell to pay,” he said coldly.

“ _Then you have until tomorrow morning to do whatever it is you wanted to do to keep Winfield indoors for now,_ ” Q replied without much repentance. Stifling a yawn, he added, _“Now if you’ll excuse me, double-oh seven, I have to go home now and let R handle the night staff. Good night.”_

“Good…night,” Bond growled, ending the call promptly. He remained quiet for a few moments, trying to get his temper back under control. “I’m going to call O’Reilly now,” he said finally, starting to type in the number. “Tell him what is going on, and then figure out the legal nuances of medical care for another person.”

“You’re going to find out how long you can keep Winfield pinned while simultaneously terminating your own connection with him,” Tess corrected, buckling herself in. “It’s not going to be for a very long time, you know,” she warned.

“M said that Ambassador Stafford will be bringing in Holton’s father in a couple days to collect the body. So I just need to keep him confined until Monday,” Bond replied as he dialed O’Reilly’s private number, the one he’d lifted off the doctor’s own records when Winfield had still been in the ICU immediately after Paris.

“Bond, Winfield will hate you for that,” Tess warned softly.

He glanced at her. “If that’s what it takes to keep him alive,” he said before starting the car. O’Reilly would be furious with him once he called, but would comply with his demands quickly since arguing would delay the anticipated return to sleep. He’d drop Tess off at headquarters—her two nurses were still waiting for her—and then head home and call O’Reilly there. He decided to go into MI6 long enough tomorrow morning to make sure that Q had followed through on his promise, or he’ll follow through on his.

He would make an effort to avoid Winfield. Just in case.


	31. Chapter 31

“I’m sorry, I don’t know if I can finish this,” Alex said, pushing the half-written witness report back across the table before he leaned back in his chair to pull off his glasses and rub his eyes. Spending several hours in the psychiatrist’s office with only a mug of Earl Grey for caffeine was not how he’d envisioned his morning to unfold, but he’d given up on sleep altogether when the main Q-Branch staff started to slowly filter in for the day. He gestured to the offending report and said, “Why does M need to know about Reardon anyway?”

“I believe he is constructing a case for Reardon’s execution for treason, something to present to the Ministry of Defence,” Doctor Miller said as he sipped his coffee before straightening his white lab coat. “Aside from attempting to assassinate a government official _three_ times, Reardon _did_ collaborate with terrorists with the intention of harming the Crown. You are really the only good witness M has, despite the, er, retrograde amnesia,” he said kindly.

“One problem: I never saw the government official that was attacked those three times. How can I be a witness?” Alex asked quietly, fingers gripping the table edge.

“The fact that Reardon struck you in Paris, then in your own flat, and literally in broad daylight builds quite a case even if you don’t recall the official in question,” Miller said patiently, frowning only slightly before nodding to the report lying between them. “Would it help if I transcribed what you told me?” he offered, pulling out a yellow legal notepad and bracing it against a crossed knee.

Alex shook his head. “If there’s one thing I’m trying to forget, that would be it,” he said, making a face. “I really, _really_ don’t want to have to relive that, I already have enough difficulty sleeping as it is.”

Miller was silent for a moment. “Aside from getting it down on record, talking about that night might help relieve some of your nightmares and perhaps some emotions that are otherwise preventing you from sleep, such as guilt, anger, and frustration. Would it help to perhaps have someone sit here with you for moral support? Someone you explicitly trust?” he suggested quietly, eyes flickering to the empty seat beside Alex. He tilted his head and said, “We can easily call someone if you would like.”

Alex didn’t immediately reply, instead stared at his shirt cuffs. He didn’t quite trust Trevelyan enough to share intimate details of his life, and he owed it to Tess to leave her in peace. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he said, “There’s really only one person I would feel comfortable having here, and he’s already moved on so I won’t press him.” Shaking his head, he whispered, “It’s stupid really, I feel _right_ when he’s around, but I know I don’t deserve to have him since I only remembered little bits and pieces about him after the accident. Hell, I just barely remembered his name in the last three weeks.” He leaned forward and said, “I thought he was dead just like my mother, my friend, and my mentor. And when he _does_ comes back, it’s under another lie!”

Miller didn’t seem too ruffled by Alex’s outburst; if anything, he looked even more pleased. Alex could remember the look of surprise delight on the man’s face when he’d first walked in, and surmised that the MI6 staff was less tolerant of Psych than apparently Alex. “I think you can be forgiven for not recalling much immediately after the accident, given how much you lost overall,” Miller said, smiling pleasantly. “Now, why did his lying bother you so much?”

Alex raised an eyebrow. “Do _you_ like it when people lie to you? I’d already had several people lie to me at that point, including my doctor, and I had to walk out of a horrible night that left my cat dead and my sanity in pieces,” he countered, forcing himself to remain in the chair. “No, I don’t like it either. James hasn’t talked to me since, and I think he’s trying to hide something. If it was about the kiss back at Skyfall—”

“Wait, you kissed at Skyfall?” Miller asked, perking up in interest.

 “Yes, and I remember being intimate with him.” Alex swallowed at the confession, something he’d never told Ella. “I remember falling in love with him not too long after Operation Skyfall, how he pulled me back and we picked each other up,” Alex said, mildly surprised to feel relieved at saying the words aloud even though his voice nearly broke. “It would make sense of why he let me stay at Skyfall after Reardon,” he said quietly, watching all the pieces slide into place. “And I think I started to fall for him again when he comforted me after the panic attack, I just didn’t realize how badly I fell and that he’d already moved on until—”

“Wait, he’s moved on? Since when?” Miller pressed, leaning forward in his chair.

“Since seven months ago, I'm guessing. James indicated that he was looking for someone else, since he never mentioned  _us,”_ Alex said, picking at a loose thread with a slight frown. “I wonder if we even mattered to him.”

“And  _how_  long has it been for you since Paris?” Miller prompted, looking strangely triumphant.

“Seven months, but I fail to see how that’s import—” Alex stopped talking as he stared at Miller. “You think it’s me he’s looking for,” he said faintly as he stared at Miller, who looked both pleased and worried.

“Generally, when someone is ‘lost’, it means it’s difficult to find them, physically or otherwise. If it helps, you should know that for most of those seven months, measures were taken for your safety and it took Bond a while to find you,” Miller said, leaning forward and resting his chin on a fist. “As for the other interpretations, well, I’ll leave those for you to figure out.”

Alex remained quiet, silently re-examining the last few weeks under the new perspective. Then he slowly started shaking his head, burying his face into his hands as his glasses clattered to the table. He remained absolutely quiet, not trusting himself to speak without completely losing his composure. He shook his head again and said, “No, no, no, that can’t be correct, he hasn’t said anything to that effect and I really can’t stand to have false hope here. Whatever it is that we had…it’s probably gone now,” he said, hating that his voice wobbled at the end of his words.

Miller’s frown deepened. “That… that is extremely odd,” he said finally, sipping his coffee. “I am, of course, unable to discuss other patients, but I can assure you that Bond has been unusually compliant with M’s orders regarding your safety in the last seven months. Agent double-oh six, however, may be of assistance, as the two of them regard each other as brothers,” he said, glancing at the closed door.

Alex shook his head. “No, I’ll just—” he stopped speaking for a moment, trying to collect himself. Then he shook his head again, reaching for his glasses as he stood up. “I’ll finish the testimonial when I get back, R mentioned earlier that we had new intel to work with, and the decryptions should be finishing up right now if they’re not done already. I want to be there for the analyses and better understand what it is that I nearly got killed over.”

“I would strongly recommend talking to Bond,” Miller said, frowning at Alex’s choice of words.

“We’ll see.” He felt numb, shaky even, unable to speak. He could feel the knot in his throat, but took a moment to compose himself, to swallow it back even though it burned in his chest. Alex opened his mouth to speak, hesitated, and then shook his head. “We’ll see,” he repeated, staring ahead at the suddenly cold and impersonal white door.

“I’m holding you to that,” Miller warned as Alex slipped out.

Trevelyan was dozing in his seat when Alex left and closed the door behind him, but the agent snapped to attention so quickly that Alex was doubtful that he’d been asleep at all. “I’m only heading to Q-Branch, you can go back to Medical and rest if you’d like,” Alex offered after a moment as Trevelyan fell in step beside him.

“I appreciate the offer, but I have my orders,” he replied, nodding once to Alex.

Alex hesitated, tempted to give him a new set of orders, but remembered that he didn’t quite have the power to do so. “Your call,” he said instead as he entered the stairwell, heading down a level with Trevelyan at his heels. Hugging himself lightly, he turned over his visit with Miller in his mind, wondering what talking to James would accomplish. _He did promise to not lie, and we’re almost done with the decryptions._ Closure, perhaps, James would give him the one last thing before he had to leave for good. Shivering, he left the stairwell and headed down the familiar corridor and entered Q-Branch, immediately seeking out his own little team

“R said we had new data?” he asked quietly, leaning forward.

“From both the Riddler and Bond’s informant,” Sarah, the tech on duty, confirmed as she looked up at him. “You look better this morning, sir,” she remarked as she pulled up a display on her monitor. “Not quite as pale.”

Alex nodded. “Must have been the sleep aids that O’Reilly gave me earlier this morning,” he lied, moving around the desk to examine her monitor. “What did you find?”

“ _Quite_ a bit, I’m convinced that the Riddler would have been able to get away with a _lot_ if he hadn’t lost the data,” she said, looking up with a frown for a moment. He mimicked her, but relaxed once he realized that it was only Q walking from his office with both M and Tanner behind him. “It also matches up with the informant’s reports, so I’m sure that the informant told the truth,” she added, leaning back in her seat to let Alex study her display.

“This could be ugly,” he said, grimacing at the thought.

“Especially since vengeance is definitely on the table,” Q said, moving to stand next to Alex, leaning back against the workstation. “We found out Holton’s secret, his name was an anagram of ‘Son of the Riddler’. It matches up with the intel that Bond provided, and his parents, including his father, will be present at the body transfer at the embassy,” he added, glancing at M.

“Hm.” Alex frowned slightly before he turned to M. “Are we going to arrest them, then?” he asked, brow furrowing.

“That is the plan. Stafford sent an escort to personally bring them to the embassy, so we can’t arrest them en route. Farrows and I have both prepared arrest warrants for Edward and Madeleine Holton, just in case Stafford gives us trouble. The embassy may be in England, but it’s technically on American soil,” M explained. “Double-oh two and six will accompany you for safety purposes, and I want to show the Riddler that we’re not afraid of him. He made his move when Reardon attacked you, now this is ours.”

Alex nodded uneasily before going back to the screen, studying each scanned handwritten letter and documented email. His breath caught, and then said, “He’s going to attempt a coup d’état on an international scale.”

“Well, to be fair, he was going to stay domestic when he first came up with the plans in 2004,” Sarah said, biting her lip as she scrolled back to the top. “He wanted to help empower those struggling to live day to day, but didn’t expand his operations until the recession of ’08,” she said, pulling up the relevant letters on her screen.

“He must have found a way to travel unnoticed to different countries since he names a lot of Western European cities, primarily those from American-allied nations,” Alex said, frowning when he spotted that there were numerous black splotches on the letters, and that the salutations and closings were missing from the documents altogether. “He was careful about planning it, says that he wants to improve life for those who are suffering or otherwise fed up with the government.”

“He was going to legally replace the government officials that were in his way, and murder those who resisted or otherwise hindered his efforts,” Sarah said, glancing at Alex. “Does any of this look familiar from when you looked at it in Paris, before you were attacked?” she asked nervously, swallowing when Alex slowly nodded in confirmation.

“The Riddler seems to prefer the latter, if his current attitude is anything to go by,” M said, moving around the table to look at the screens himself: two more techs had arrived, and were now pulling up different displays on their monitors.

“He may not have to rig elections,” Q warned, leaning back on a foot. “All he would have to do is present a convincing case to the people for the removal of the current officials. We know he has lieutenants from all over, all he has to do is put them in power in exchange for their help. Then he has ready alliances for when he takes over and unites them under himself. I presume he’ll make a bid for the States,” he said, frowning to himself for a moment. “Haven’t those elections already occurred?” he asked, looking up.

“The inauguration will take place on the twentieth. If the Riddler is theoretically coming to London to pick up his son’s dead body, he’s not participating quite yet,” Alex said, slowly exhaling as a thought occurred to him. He straightened and faced M. “I am willing to bet anything that Paris messed up whatever time table he had,” he said, and M raised an eyebrow. “Think about it. Paris happened in May, and the Riddler still had good time for a presidency campaign for 2016. But he loses his data in Paris, and realizes that he still has a loose end to take care of,” he explained, gesturing to first the screens and then to himself. “He’s already waited over ten years, what’s four more to him?” he asked, adjusting his glasses to go back to his screen. “Now that we know, we can warn the Department of Homeland Security.”

“And the United Kingdom is relatively safe as well, given that Holmes is still around and not planning to go anytime soon, as far as I’m aware of,” M muttered under his breath as Tanner coughed. “But France…”

“Temporarily safe,” Alex said, recalling snatches from his recurring nightmare. “That bunker in Paris, there was TNT in it, right? Lee and Will were supposed to disarm it,” he said, looking up at Q. “Where was the bunker located?”

“Underneath the Eiffel Tower, the rescue teams had difficulty getting to you because the French didn’t want us _that_ close to their national landmark,” Q replied. “We always suspected that the Riddler would try again with another site, but we’re not sure where or when.”

“Probably once I was dead and unable to blow the whistle on him,” Alex said, ignoring Tanner’s flinch. “He might target another historic landmark, I suspect that he planned the destruction of the Eiffel Tower to reflect badly on the current government. Just like how Holton was trying to start the second Cold War to destabilize Russia,” he added, moving to Henry’s monitor to check the personnel lists. “Do we have any agents near Paris?” he asked, looking up at Q, who shook his head.

“Double-ohs four and five are in Egypt, they’re the closest unless you consider Bond, who is here in London,” Q said, glancing warily at M for a moment. “I understand that you wanted him here in London…”

“No, send him after the French lieutenant,” M interrupted, moving to look over Alex’s shoulder at the personnel lists. “Tell him to leave immediately, and bring… Lefèvre, Henri Lefèvre, back for interrogation. Lefèvre doesn’t necessarily have to be in one piece, just able to talk,” he said, moving away from the workstation. He paused at Trevelyan’s side, glanced back at Alex for a moment, and then said, “You have your orders,” and started to leave the room.

“Orders? What orders? Trevelyan, what is he talking about?” Alex asked, pausing when he saw the guilt on Q’s face a second before the quartermaster looked away. He narrowed his eyes when Trevelyan approached the workstation, the other techs suddenly busy with something on their screens. “Trevelyan, what is he talking about?” he asked in a soft voice, blinking when Trevelyan hesitated for a split second.

“A change in permissions, straight from O’Reilly himself,” Trevelyan said finally, leaning on the workstation across from Alex. “You are not permitted to leave MI6 property indefinitely. No exceptions,” he quietly explained, never once looking away from Alex. “O’Reilly signed off the changes this morning, and I received a notification right after you walked in to see Miller.”

Alex stared at him. “You can’t do that,” he said after a moment.

“Ah, I think they just did,” Trevelyan replied, straightening when Alex did. “I think O’Reilly can clarify anything for you.”

“You can go on ahead sir, we’ll let you know if we find anything,” Sarah offered, nodding to the screen next to hers. “There isn’t much left, since we’ve been at this for several days now.” He still heard the rest of her sentence even if she didn’t speak it aloud— _then you’ll be free to go if you still want to._

“Is O’Reilly even _in_ today?” Alex asked, turning to Trevelyan, who shrugged.

“It’s Friday, of course he is,” he said, moving to stay with Alex even as the latter walked around the workstation and headed straight for the door. “If he’s not in surgery, then he should be at the end of the hall on the opposite side of the ward from where the patients stay,” he said, managing to keep up with Alex as they left Q-Branch, heading straight for the lifts.

“Are you sure he doesn’t have other patients to attend to?” Alex asked as he pressed the button to summon the lift.

“Whoever is at the front desk will know for sure,” Trevelyan assured him.

Ellen was on duty at the nurses’ station when Alex arrived to Medical, reading through several papers until she heard their footsteps on the tiled floor. Her smile slid into a frown when she spotted Alex’s scowl, and she set the papers aside and closed the folder. “Is there a problem, Mr. Winfield?” she asked, resting her elbows on the tabletop.

“Where is O’Reilly?” Alex quietly demanded, his gaze never leaving Ellen’s face as she composed a calm expression while meeting him straight in the eye. _She knows._

“He’s in his office, expecting you, actually. He didn’t think you would be pleased once you found out about the changes,” Ellen said, jerking her head over her shoulder. “I will let him know that you are coming, he’s down at the end of the hall.”

“Thank you.” Alex walked around the desk, not particularly caring that Trevelyan remained behind him this time. He finally located the hall in question, past the maze of medical staff desks, and hesitated for the briefest of seconds until Trevelyan nudged him from behind. “This is the right hall, correct?” he asked after a moment.

“Mm-hmm. I’ll wait just outside his office door if that’s all right with you. Yell if you need anything and I’ll come in,” Trevelyan said as Alex walked forward again.

“Thank you.”

He could see the open door at the end of the hall as he approached the office, feeling an odd sense of déjà vu as he studied the tacky wall decorations that seemed strangely comforting now. True to his word, Trevelyan silently leaned against a wall as Alex carefully knocked on the open door and then pushed it open before O’Reilly could speak. “Doctor O’Reilly,” he said, startling the graying doctor out of the other’s perusal of the paperwork spread out in front of him.

“Ah, Mr. Winfield, please take a seat,” O’Reilly said, his eyes flickering past Alex to the open door before turning back to him. He set down a slightly bulky folder— _mine_ , Alex realized with a jolt when he spotted the name on the edge—and then leaned back in his chair. “How are you feeling this morning?” he asked, catching Alex off guard.

“Physically, I feel all right, I’ve been taking paracetamol for the shoulder. It aches occasionally in the early morning hours, but it doesn’t matter as I’m not usually asleep at that point,” he admitted, reflexively reaching for a teacup that wasn’t there. “Ah, sorry about that,” he said, placing his hand back into his lap.

O’Reilly waved the apology off. “Ah, don’t worry about it,” he said, smiling briefly. “Speaking of which, care for some tea now?”

“No. I wanted to know why I’m not permitted to leave MI6 property when _you_ and Doctor Redding said that I could as long as I was under escort courtesy of Trevelyan,” Alex said, straightening in his seat when O’Reilly sighed. He leaned forward and said, “I have been complying with each request that you and M have for me to the best of my ability. _Why_ am I forbidden from leaving all of a sudden?”

“Because _officially_ , your mandatary, the person you appointed to make your healthcare decisions while you were incapacitated, recently decided that you should remain confined indefinitely until you can prove to us, meaning myself and Doctor Redding, that you are medically fit to leave” O’Reilly said, glaring briefly at his mobile. “After which, you can come and go as you please.”

Alex frowned, quiet anger swelling in his chest when he recognized the twitch in O’Reilly’s right hand as he turned the doctor’s words in his mind. “It’s James, isn’t it?” he asked quietly, sitting up straight in his chair. Shaking his head, he stood back up and snapped, “I—that’s not fair. He can’t—”

“Actually, he _can,_ since you authorized him over two years ago,” O’Reilly said, pulling out a sheet of paper and passing it across the desk. “However, the _unofficial_ reason for the change is that Bond wants you to stay indoors to help perpetuate a lie that he told to one of the Riddler’s informants last night,” he said, glancing past Alex towards the open door. “As far as the Riddler will know, if he doesn’t already, you died from head trauma the day that Reardon sniped you near the café,” he explained, leaning back in his chair as Alex studied the text, locating the date— _March 15 th 2013_—near the bottom before he set the paper down on the table.

“So you’re hoping to lure the Riddler out with news of my death?” Alex asked, anger temporarily dampened as he stared at his and Bond’s inked signatures.

“And it will only remain believable as long as you stay indoors and out of sight,” O’Reilly said quietly. “Very few people here in Medical know who you truly are, since I had a staff overhaul about three months ago, and I think it’s best to keep it that way for now.” He hesitated, and then leaned forward. “I think I should tell you something about that happened not too long after the accident.”

“Oh?” Alex prompted, watching him carefully now even as he tried to ignore the curling feeling in his gut. “You’re one of the first,” he remarked, leaning back in his seat

“Bond was your mandatary, yes, but the only time I limited that power from him was when I decided that he was unable to make decisions for you after Paris,” O’Reilly said calmly, Alex slowly sitting down again. “I maintained that restriction only while you were still in the hospital and unconscious. M soon needed his services overseas, so I don’t know how often he actually visited once I lifted the ban. There is a chance he could have asked the St. Bart staff for discretion,” O’Reilly explained patiently, his gaze never wavering.

Alex stared at him, too stunned to speak at first. “But as you said, it’s only a _chance_ ,” he whispered.

O’Reilly merely raised his hands in mock surrender. “That’s all there is to it, unless there was something else you wish to discuss, Mr. Winfield,” he said, standing up and taking the paper back from Alex, stuffing it into the folder. “It’s only temporary, I promise,” he said, putting the folder away onto the shelf behind him.  

Alex shook his head, glancing at the open door where he knew Trevelyan was probably listening to the whole conversation. “In that case, thank you, Doctor O’Reilly, for explaining everything to me,” he said, nodding once to O’Reilly before walking around the chair and promptly leaving the office. He wrapped his arms around himself, trying to ignore Trevelyan falling into step behind him, trying to process the day’s events.

Then he stopped, leaning against the wall and sinking slightly as he tried to sort out everything that had happened in the last few hours. He recalled his brief stay at Skyfall—Kincade hadn’t questioned his presence, his possessions were stored there, and the coffee in the morning. “Do you think there’s still a chance he loves me?” he asked after a moment, looking silently up at Trevelyan. “I can’t stand to have false hope, not after everything that’s happened.”

Trevelyan silently knelt to Alex’s level. “I don’t know, I’ve barely seen James myself in the last seven months. I can take you to his flat once your ban is lifted,” he replied gently. “In the meantime, we can’t mess up whatever trap he’s working on.”

“I know.” Alex closed his eyes, trying to think straight. “Do you think that there’s anything else I should know?” he asked finally, looking up at Trevelyan, who slowly stood up. “Before I leave Medical, or MI6 for that matter?”

“No, there’s nothing else,” Trevelyan said in steady voice, never looking away.

Alex nodded, breathing slowly to regain some sense of calm. “I think I’ll rest for a bit,” he said finally, looking up at Trevelyan. “I don’t think I’ll be of much use in the branch, since we’re almost done.” He reached up, and Trevelyan pulled him to his feet. “Thank you,” he murmured before heading down the hall, back to his room.

_Christ. James, I can’t wait to hear your side of things._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for being late with this one, last weekend didn't work well in terms of posting mostly because of a family matter that came up. Then I ended up researching legal matters (for this chapter) over the week and Bond wanted to dig himself into a deeper hole.


	32. Chapter 32

“Here, wear this,” Trevelyan said, giving Alex three seconds to look up before throwing a large, bulky object at the other man.

“Wait, I’m not—” Alex grunted when he somehow managed to catch the bulletproof vest without stumbling backwards or getting whacked in the face. The nurse who had come into the room earlier to check on him made a soft _tsk_ of disapproval behind him as she made a few more notes on his chart, but otherwise did not say a word as Alex set the vest on the neatly made bed in the hospital room. “When are we leaving for the embassy?” he asked as he pulled his cardigan off again and set it aside before reaching for the vest. He slipped it on, trying not to make a face at the sudden weight on his shoulders. _I’ve forgotten how heavy this thing can be._

“In a few minutes, Farrows has already told M that he’s on his way. M wanted to coordinate arrivals so that there’s no delay in making arrests,” Trevelyan said, pulling his mobile out when it buzzed in his pocket. Alex watched as the agent frowned, staring at the display before he set the mobile in his pocket. He rubbed the bridge of his nose before he said, “That was Eve, she sent a heads-up about a potential last minute change in your protection detail, but no specifics.” His gaze flickered to Alex before he said quietly, “Apparently M asked her to summon double-oh two to his office.”

“Most likely last minute instructions, given that James should have returned with Lefèvre yesterday or today,” Alex pointed out as he began to wiggle back into his cardigan, making a face at the slight creak of stretched fabric. “ _Is_ James back from Paris?” he asked after a moment of struggling, nearly jumping when he heard the nurse sigh behind him and another set of hands caught the hem of the cardigan’s back and tugged it down over the vest.

“Yes, James texted me last night that he’d returned home, but he didn’t say anything about the mission outcome. Which means that Lefèvre either died or James picked up more intel that could put you in further danger,” Trevelyan said as he leaned against the doorframe, grimacing when Alex scowled. “Don’t shoot the messenger, Winfield, I’m just telling you what he told you and then added my own assumptions based on experience,” he said, moving aside to let the nurse through after she collected Alex’s medical records. “Ready?”

Alex nodded, slipping on a new anorak before following Trevelyan out of the room, a bubble of anticipation settling in his chest as he realized he’d be facing the Riddler for the first time. The vest seemed heavier on his shoulders as his mouth went dry at the imagined threat, but he couldn’t shake the anticipation— _of what? Finishing this once and for all? Overseeing the completion of a mission by drawing the threat out?_ He took a deep breath to calm himself before straightening his spine, nodding once to a frowning Ellen as he walked past the nurses’ station near the front of Medical. “Trevelyan, how is it that James allowed me to go on this trip after cooping me up all weekend?” he asked quietly, moving to walk beside Trevelyan as they left the ward.

“Because M authorized you to come once he invited you along, and James stopped challenging M’s orders months ago, when you went to St. Bart’s,” Trevelyan said, guiding Alex back down the now-familiar halls towards the main entrance.

“What? I thought James defied him frequently. I—I remember having a discussion with him once, after he returned home from a trip, and he said he always followed his instincts if they deviated from the mission brief,” Alex said, frowning as he and Trevelyan approached the final turn.

“Oh, he still does, just not when you’re involved,” Trevelyan said, pushing a door open and holding it for Alex. “Speaking of the devil…” he began, grinning slightly as he nodded towards the knot of people in front of the main doors.

Alex looked up in surprise to see not only Tess standing near the entrance next to Eve, but also James, his head bowed as he listened to Tanner, whose back was to Alex. An unfamiliar man stood near M and a uniformed security officer, sharpening a knife to the side— _that has to be 002_. James abruptly turned at the sound of their footsteps, tensing as he studied Alex, but relaxed a moment later. Alex scanned James for any sign of injury, inhaling sharply when he spotted a dark red line on the side of James’s neck. “What happened?” he asked, reaching towards the agent without thinking to better examine the mark. His eyes widened as he pulled the shirt collar down until he found the end of the mark, near James’s collarbone.

“The target and I both learned the hard way that Reardon has been studying pyrotechnics in his free time, he killed Lefèvre before nearly killing me,” James said, tilting his head slightly to better display the full arc of the line that started partway up his neck ended near Alex’s fingers. He glanced at Alex, blue eyes softening lightly. “I assume that you are feeling better?” he asked, glancing towards M briefly.

Alex merely quirked a smile, clenching his jaw against a muted flare of old anger and hurt before he nodded _._ “We’re nearly done with everything in Q-Branch, soon you’ll be able to put any…fears you may have concerning specific others to rest,” he said, catching the spark of acknowledgement in James’s eyes; _he knows exactly what I’m talking about._ He started to open his mouth—to ask about James’s motives yet nurture the flare of hope that there was something he could salvage—when M abruptly broke away from the security officer and approached the three of them. “Sir,” he greeted carefully, not missing the way that James fell still at the director’s approach.

“Gentlemen.” M glanced between the agents before turning to Alex. “I do apologize about this last minute change in plans, but I asked Bond to switch places with double-oh two because as Miss Moneypenny reminded me, Bond doesn’t necessarily need a gun to kill someone, and I need the Riddler alive for questioning,” he explained, Alex nodding in acknowledgment. “The three of you will take a separate car to the embassy, and Mr. Winfield, you’re to follow their orders in the event of an emergency and defer to Trevelyan in the event of a disagreement.” He glanced between the three of them and asked, “Any questions?”

“After we arrest the Riddler, will _all_ restrictions on me be gone?” Alex asked firmly, catching the director’s attention.

He did not miss the twitch in M’s jaw, the director’s lips thinning as he glanced at James, whose eyes narrowed before M turned to Alex. “Yes, all restrictions will be gone, especially since Q tells me that you’re almost finished the decryptions with only a few scanned documents left. MI6 will leave you alone afterwards,” M said, meeting Alex’s steady gaze with one of his own.

Alex nodded, careful to hide his confusion when he saw Trevelyan grimace out of the corner of his eye. “Very well, thank you, sir,” he said calmly, watching as M began to step back towards the security officer and 002.

“Gentlemen, double-oh two and I are leaving now. Try to arrive after us, and Bond, _please_ honor the rules of the road unless it’s a life or death emergency. The minute we lose radio contact, turn around and head straight back to headquarters,” M said, looking between two agents before turning to the others in the lobby. “Dismissed.”

“This way,” Trevelyan murmured, nudging Alex towards the side of the lobby. “We’re going in a civilian vehicle that Q got his hands on and upgraded. Something inconspicuous, so don’t get your hopes up,” he said, directing the last part to James, who shrugged as he checked his Walther, sliding it into its shoulder holster before pulling on a leather pair of gloves.

“Didn’t think he would get something obvious for a discreet escort. That’s what Reardon would expect; he’ll be looking for something along those lines. If the Riddler is going to the embassy, he’ll warn Reardon of the trip and that we’ll be there,” James replied before glancing at Alex, quirking a brow when Alex pressed his lips together into a thin line. “And as far as they know, Alex is dead and won’t be there” he said, a muscle in his jaw twitching as he checked his mobile.

“So the ruse worked?” Alex asked, perking up in interest despite himself.

“Yes. Tess told me that the informant, who delivered the news to the Riddler, as we’d hoped, went into hiding last night. The Riddler was less than pleased as he was unable to recover his lost data, but I suspect he’ll plan to adapt as they always do. What he doesn’t know is that he’ll be in prison before he can do anything, and his lieutenants will be on the run as we systematically hunt them down,” James said, turning to Alex as he stopped in the middle of the hall. “You won’t have to worry about him as a threat anymore, you can go back to your life after today.”

“You really think you can do that, just quietly brush everything aside?” Alex asked, arching an eyebrow as Trevelyan quietly reached forward and tugged the car keys from James’s hands, excusing himself a moment later. “When the hell were you going to tell me that you were my mandatary? That’s a bit of a huge oversight on your part, I mean, what _else_ did you do without telling me?” he demanded, scowling as James grimaced at the accusation. “More importantly, what else do you know that _I_ should?”

“Would you have believed me, if I had told you at Skyfall that I had been in charge of your medical care for the last six months, even if I had no active part in it since you transferred to St. Bart’s? You yourself told me that you didn’t trust MI6, and by extension, me,” James asked quietly, squaring his stance as he remained facing Alex.

Alex almost opened his mouth to disagree, but hesitated, recalling his own reluctance to even believe that MI6 didn’t want to kill him for a past error and then his steadfast refusal to negotiate with MI6 until James convinced him. James nodded when he caught the gesture. “See? It wasn’t ideal for either of us, and I did what I damn well could without breaking prior orders from M _and_ convince you to come back to London with me,” he said, voice edging on a desperation that Alex hadn’t heard in what felt like years. “I thought that you would suspect me of forging my name on your records, and I wanted to get you somewhere safe before Reardon tried again. All of my resources were here because I didn’t think that you would have a reason to flee London.” He shook his head as he started to move away. “I did what I felt was necessary within the constraints I was given,” he said in a controlled yet cold voice. “As with any other mission I am given.”

Alex flinched, taking a step back. “So I _was_ a mission?” he asked, arching a brow when James frowned, carefully studying him. He was careful to keep his voice steady to hide how deep the sting actually went into his chest. “James, listen. Just because I didn’t trust you doesn’t change the fact that—”

“You were never a mission, I just can’t—” James interrupted, stopping himself almost immediately after as he shook his head. He looked as though he wanted to say something else, and Alex almost hoped he would. Instead, the agent seemed to mull the thought over for a moment before he shook his head and started to move away. “We should go, before we fall behind. We can continue this discussion when we’re not in a public area,” he said quietly before turning on his heel to walk away.

Alex followed, feeling numb. He instinctively reached out and caught the agent’s wrist before James could get too far. “Promise me then, that we’ll continue to talk about this later,” he said quietly, making eye contact with James.

“I promise,” James replied, never looking away.

Alex nodded before letting him go, allowing with the agent to take the lead. Adjusting his glasses, he silently followed James to the door and outside onto the curb, remaining close to the agent’s side as they approached the car that idled in front of the door. Trevelyan didn’t say anything as the two of got in, James sliding into the passenger seat and Alex into the back behind Trevelyan. Out of the corner of his eye, Alex watched as James rubbed his temple, shaking his head in response to a silent question from Trevelyan before settling down in his seat.

Alex leaned back in his seat as Trevelyan pulled out into traffic, easily turning left and following the river to the next bridge. Rubbing his eyes, Alex turned his focus to the impending visit with Ambassador Stafford, whom he hadn’t seen in years. Not since Alana’s funeral in Boston three years ago, if his patchwork memory served him correctly, he realized. He’d deliberately tried to cut ties afterwards, but guilt compelled him to check in every now and then, despite James’s objections. _Yet he hadn’t interfered even though he disagreed_ , Alex recalled, feeling an echo of pain in his heart. He glanced at James, carefully observing the agent as Trevelyan navigated the streets of London. James remained staring at the road, slipping on an earpiece before leaning back against his seat, his face a carefully constructed mask that Alex hadn’t seen since Skyfall. He felt torn between reaching out to James in comfort and yet holding back, still stinging from his earlier words. _Please help me understand, James. I’m angry with you, but I don’t want to lose you._

“Alex?”

He looked up to see that Trevelyan had finally parked the car in a small car park behind a white building that had the American flag flying above with a small garden—and a black iron fence—lining the perimeter. “We’re here?” he blurted out, sitting up sharply only to wince at the brief head rush.

“It was only twelve minutes,” Trevelyan said by way of explanation as he unbuckled himself. “Q just reported that Farrows is here, as is the medical examiner with Holton’s body. Mr. and Mrs. Holton stayed with the ambassador overnight in his residence and they all arrived together earlier this morning,” he said, getting out of the car as Alex did. “If Reardon is here, he’s most likely outside,” he warned, turning to face James.

“No, he isn’t. Q didn’t spot him and we’re not in a dead zone,” James said as he came around the car. “Doesn’t mean we should linger,” he said, gesturing for Alex to follow Trevelyan before falling into step behind Alex. Although he tried to cover it, Alex could see James’s anxiety in the twitch of his hand towards his concealed firearm.

A uniformed aide waited for them in the lobby, stiffening when she saw that that Trevelyan was armed; James’s Walther, Alex noticed, remained concealed underneath the jacket. “Sir, I’m afraid that all weapons will have to wait at the security checkpoint,” she began, squaring her shoulders when Trevelyan failed to obey. “Sir, I _insist_ that—” she said, moving in front of Trevelyan, who merely smiled before stepping around her. _“Sir!”_ she snapped, turning to follow him.

“Trevelyan—” Alex began, moving quickly to divert the impending argument.

“Alexander!”

Alex jumped at the use of his full name seconds before someone pulled him into an unexpected hug, his mind catching up a moment later and identifying the speaker. “Mr. Stafford! It’s good to see you again,” he said, wiggling free and turning around to face the ambassador, who looked much better than when Alex saw him last. Stafford had started to gray at the temples, with deep stress lines forming around his eyes and mouth, but still had the black suit and a firm handshake that Alex remembered from years past. “How have you been?” he asked, aware of the agents repositioning themselves around them.

“Quite well, all things considering. This is my last month as ambassador to the United Kingdom,” Stafford admitted as he gestured for Alex to walk with him. “Congress is still in session, but the next elections will be at the end of this year, and I’m planning to run for Senate,” he said, turning to face Alex, who squeezed his forearm gently. He sighed, and then bowed his head. “I am honestly relieved to see that you are well, M had mentioned something about a horrific car accident and I wanted to help you get back on your feet, but I couldn’t find you. I assumed, then, that your partner must have been taking good care of you,” he said quietly, looking briefly in James’s direction.

“He was busy, but we managed,” Alex said, trying to discreetly search for James. “Everything is all right,” he said, putting on a smile for Stafford.

Stafford nodded, visibly relaxing. “That’s good to hear, I do worry about you sometimes,” he said, gently herding Alex into the next room, a richly furnished salon that was empty save for a small knot of people on the other side. Out of the five people that Alex counted— _six, there’s a woman sitting down_ —M and 002 were the only two that he recognized. “But at least James stayed with you and didn’t leave,” Stafford said after a moment, smiling kindly before he squeezed Alex’s shoulder and walked past as Alex remained in place.

“Yes…at least he did that,” Alex muttered under his breath before he started to walk into the room, allowing Trevelyan to walk ahead of him. James merely nudged him in the small of his back with an elbow before he fell into step beside Alex. “Who are they, besides M and double-oh two?” he asked quietly, tensing when one of the men, who had been speaking with Stafford, caught sight of Alex over Stafford’s shoulder and his eyes widened in surprise. Feeling emboldened by James’s presence behind him, Alex didn’t flinch, barely suppressing the shudder that ran down his spine.

“The man in the blue suit is Michael Farrows, he’s the director of MI5. The woman standing next to him is Agent Kelly Waters, his bodyguard. She gets jealous easily,” James said quietly, moving slightly closer to Alex. “The other two must be Edward and Madeleine Holton, they are the only two I don’t recognize.”

Alex nodded, moving to sit down across the reception room with his back to the windows overlooking the streets of London. James never left his side, moving to stand next to him with his back to Stafford and his guests. Edward kept glancing at him even when facing Stafford, and Alex could see James growing tense with each passing moment, anxiety that didn’t disappear even when Stafford announced that they were all moving to the next room since the medical examiner was now prepared to meet them. _And the Holtons will be arrested shortly after_ , Alex mused as Mrs. Holton tried and failed to stand until 002 knelt and assisted her up from her chair, her frame visibly shaking as 002 guided her to the door. “Do you think Mrs. Holton had anything to do with her husband’s plans?” Alex asked after a moment, looking up at James.

“It doesn’t matter, she may still provide useful information for a conviction,” James said quietly, not relaxing even when the door closed and only Trevelyan remained in the room. Alex was privately grateful that he had not been asked into the other room; the photographs from the reports had been disturbing enough.

“Are you going to see this to the very end, then?” Alex asked, somehow already aware of the answer even though he _knew_ that Double-Os rarely dealt with the criminals after bringing them home alive as ordered.

James didn’t reply for a moment, brow furrowed as he stared out the window. “When I found you in Paris, after the attack, I thought you were dead,” he said finally, voice carefully calm and controlled as he stared at something Alex couldn’t see. “As it was, I could barely feel your pulse. When both O’Reilly and later Redding diagnosed your retrograde amnesia, M forbade any one of us to interact with you in case we triggered something. I didn’t want to see you hurt further, so I obeyed. I was overseas when you were released from the hospital, and it was only through Alec’s and Tess’s good graces that I ever saw you again.”

“That’s how you knew to be at the gallery that day…how much did she tell you?” Alex asked, feeling slightly ill.

“Just that she was going. She never repeated anything you ever said to her. All I did after you left MI6 was regain what control I could without M noticing, and make sure that you were _safe_ , _”_ James said, his jaw tightening as he looked down at Alex. “I meant to erase my name as your mandatary, before all of this happened, to make your transition easier. When I learned that the Riddler was on the warpath after his son’s death, I reacted without thinking because I couldn’t stand the thought of you being at risk again.”

“Would you have said anything to me, if the Riddler hadn’t been a threat?” Alex asked, standing up to face him.

“No. Because if the Riddler hadn’t been a threat, we wouldn’t be here discussing this,” James said in a curt voice before he started to turn away. “I wanted to give you a chance to start over without external obligations affecting your decisions,” he said quietly before turning to face the window again.

“James?” Alex reached out for the agent only to scowl when James moved out of reach. “Ja—double-oh seven, _look at me_ ,” he snapped, moving to chase the agent if he had to, nearly colliding with the man instead. “Listen to me very carefully, James, because I won’t repeat myself. First, don’t you _dare_ presume to know what’s best for me again, unless I’m unconscious. Second, even if I don’t trust you in the off chance this happens again—”

“Which it won’t,” James interrupted, calm even when Alex gripped his shoulders.

“ _Second_ , don’t hide something from me again even if I don’t trust you. Third, when I woke up at St. Bart’s, I was _terrified_. No one was there, no one visited, everyone I knew was either dead or gone except for the _cat_ , but _she’s_ gone now as well and you’re trying to leave me again—” he snarled, speaking over James’s interruption as though the agent hadn’t spoken as his fingers curled further into the jacket.

“I didn’t think you would remember _me_ and I didn’t want to bring the Riddler’s attention back to you!” James said in a near growl.

“How the _fuck_ do you think I got through the nightmares? I _mourned_ you when I thought you had died in Istanbul!” Alex nearly shouted, only vaguely aware that he and James were nearly touching noses. “You were never there when I needed you the most, James,” he whispered even as he rested his head against James’s chest, the agent reaching around to hold him in a tight embrace. _If he can be selfish, then so can I._

_Crash!_

The two of them pulled apart when the door to the next room slammed open, Edward Holton staggering out of the room, breathing heavily with bleeding knuckles and a bloody switchblade in his hand. He stumbled slightly as he adjusted his grip, bloodshot eyes jumping between the two agents before settling on Alex, a wordless snarl building in his throat. Alex felt his own heart grow cold and limbs become heavy as he watched the recognition click in the other man's eyes-- _t_ _he game is up; he knows we're on to him._

Trevelyan moved for Edward right as the American staggered forward, who ducked Trevelyan's initial strike a second later and swiped at Trevelyan's stomach. Once he'd forced the agent to back away, Edward used his few extra seconds to aim the switchblade and throw it directly towards Alex's face.

Alex only had enough time to take a few steps away from the enraged man before he felt someone— _James_ —wrap an arm around his waist and yank him to the side, turning the two of them so that James had his back to the threat, body curled around Alex’s own as though to shield him. Alex barely heard the shattering of glass followed by a dull  _thud_  of bodies colliding behind him over the pounding of his own heart as he clutched onto James for support, struggling to regain his balance within tight confines.

For a moment, neither of them moved, almost breathing in sync as James buried his face into the crook of Alex’s neck, his arms trembling imperceptibly underneath Alex’s fingers. “I don’t know if I can almost lose you again,” James finally murmured almost too softly for Alex to hear, one of his fingers moving up to rest on Alex’s chest, undoubtedly feeling the weight of the vest underneath the cardigan.

“James—“ Alex began, slowly exhaling when he felt James rest his forehead against his back; James didn’t need to elaborate, and he knew James was thinking of Paris again. “James, we both know that this will never stop no matter what we do; if it’s not him, then it’s someone else,” he whispered, wrapping his hands over James’s in time to feel the agent’s entire frame stiffen at the mention of another threat. “I need to know that I can trust you _when_ this happens again.”

James didn’t reply, just abruptly pulled away as the door slammed open yet again and M came in, Stafford on his heels as both Trevelyan and a bloody 002 pinned the struggling man to the ground, 002 pressing a blade against the back of Edward’s neck. Stafford spluttered for a few seconds before turning to M. “What in God’s name is going on here?” he demanded, stumbling away when the Edward tried to lunge for his feet. The American's hands clawed the carpet desperately as Trevelyan nudged 002 aside to wrap a hand around Edward's neck and squeeze in warning.

“An arrest, Mr. Stafford, he’s wanted for murder and terrorism in both my country and yours, and the wife’s wanted for questioning. He goes under the moniker of ‘The Riddler’,” M said, pulling out a memory stick. “The case files against him, for your perusal and for the examination of the officials in Washington,” he said, stepping away when Trevelyan placed a knee on Edward's back in order to haul him back up. Alex could feel James keeping a firm hand on his shoulder, as though prepared to pull him away again as 002 and Trevelyan began hauling Edward away. 002 abruptly leaned over and managed to wrestle duct tape over Edward's mouth, earning muffled sounds from the enraged man. “Double-oh seven, please assist double-oh two so that Trevelyan may resume his duties,” M said, glancing at James, who released Alex as though burned.

James moved before Alex could stop him, nodding once to Alex before leaving in the direction that M indicated. Alex watched with a sinking heart as M turned to the agent, saying something that left James with a scowl but a nod of acknowledgement before disappearing around the corner.

“He’s completely out of his mind,” Stafford said, appearing at Alex’s side with a baffled expression on his face. Alex winced when he heard a faint crash and a female shriek mixed with the sound of shattered pottery in the other room. Silence abruptly fell, and an innocent-looking Trevelyan returned a moment later, looking only a little ruffled. Stafford paled as the agent brushed some dust off his jacket, but shook his head. “All of them,” he said, turning the memory stick over in his hand before placing it into a pocket. He glanced at Alex, who shrugged with one shoulder. “Is… is all well with you and your partner?” he asked.

“We’re working it out,” Alex said in a firm voice, glancing at him.

“I see…well, perhaps we could meet for breakfast tomorrow and talk about it? I have to meet with a few politicians tonight for dinner, and I want to make sure that you’ll be all right before I leave London for good,” Stafford said quietly, his eyes flickering to Trevelyan behind him. “You can even bring your bodyguard.”

Alex nodded. “I can’t meet for breakfast, I have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow morning, but I’m available for lunch,” he said, glancing at Trevelyan in a silent challenge. The agent merely shrugged one shoulder before looking elsewhere.

“Very well, I will email you a list of places we could meet tonight, I look forward to seeing you tomorrow,” Stafford said with a smile. “In the meantime, I apparently have research to do…assuming Farrows hasn’t tried to arrest poor Mrs. Holton yet,” he said, glancing away nervously.

“I wouldn’t hope that, if I were you. I’ll see you tomorrow, then. Good bye, Mr. Stafford,” Alex said before gesturing with his head to Trevelyan before nearly running towards the entry hall to see if James was still there, his heart sinking when he saw nothing but the aide from earlier, her eyes still wide in terror while flattened against a wall, and a smashed vase that a few cleaners were already picking up from the floor.

But no James.

Alex knew he’d won his freedom back, but he still felt like he’d lost so much.


	33. Chapter 33

Alex felt only a hollow sense of satisfaction when the computer let out a soft  _ping_ , signaling the completion of the final decryption.

“And that’s it. Don’t forget to check the files for any malware before downloading it to the servers in order to preserve the data,” he said, leaning forward to point out a line of code before Michael could accidentally delete it. “You want to keep that, it’s what keeps the file together. I know it fits the pattern that we’re trying to get rid of, but I suspect that the Riddler organized as a last ditch measure to make any unwanted readers lose the information…see these digits? Those are different compared to the others, watch out for them,” he said, adjusting his glasses for a better look. Michael nodded, carefully working around the code before moving on to the next set.

Satisfied, Alex checked the other monitors before pulling up the master list of files on his own computer, telling himself that he was only ensuring that they caught everything before he left MI6 tomorrow morning, after his final appointment with O’Reilly. He glanced up at one of the larger screens, where Q had placed a digital map of Reardon’s current location based off MI6 data. _Data that corresponds with the information that Edward Holton has surrendered so far in the interrogation._ He picked up the report that Q had given him earlier that day and scanned the page, turning it over to finally locate Edward’s confession to Reardon’s hideout. _And it matches_.

“Double-oh four has volunteered to eliminate Reardon on her way home, she says they never got along well anyways so she has no qualms about killing him,” R said, breaking into Alex’s thoughts as she stood near him. She shuddered, closing her eyes as Alex raised a brow, and then said, “I don’t pretend to understand what they’re thinking half of the time, I usually just nod and let them do whatever.”

“You have to be careful with that, agents usually interpret orders and authorizations quite differently than you or I or M would. I still recall whacking Bond over the head for pulling a stunt like that in Beijing, bloody idiot nearly got himself killed even though I thought I’d been explicit with my orders,” Alex warned as he set the report down to reach for his cardigan, frowning when he realized that the anorak was missing. He glanced at Q’s office, and sighed when he saw that the door was closed and the lights were off. He looked back at R, who watched him with a surprisingly thoughtful expression. “But I believe we’ve decrypted all of the Riddler’s data,” he said, gesturing to the other screens behind him.

“Of course, is there anything else?” R asked, hovering slightly as she wrung her hands together.

“Yes.” He leaned back towards the main computer, typed in a few commands, and then ejected the memory stick. “Please put that on Q’s desk, he’ll need to run copies of the documents for evidence,” he said, handing her the memory stick as he leaned forward and typed in a series of commands with the other hand. He then powered down the monitor before walking around the edge of the table towards the front door.

“Will you be coming back tomorrow morning?”

Alex stopped and glanced back at R, who had paused halfway towards her desk with a hopeful expression. He shook his head, shrugging a shoulder in apology as he turned to face her. “I have to start looking for a flat in the morning, given that I’ve done what I can here and I’m probably taking up space in Medical,” he said before starting to make his way through the maze of desks. “Thank you, though, for allowing me to work here,” he said, glancing back at R for a moment.

“Have you thought about maybe staying? We could always use more programmers,” she said in a light tone, folding her arms loosely across her chest.

Alex didn’t miss the way that several techs paused in their work to watch the exchange, and instead offered a half-smile in an attempt to conceal the twinge of reluctance in his chest. “I don’t know if that would be a good idea. I suspect that here, gunshots are inevitable and I don’t want to compromise anyone because I froze up at the most inopportune moment,” he said, never looking away from her. He nodded once to her, before he said, “Good night Marcela, and I wish you the best.”

She made a half-strangled sound in the back of her throat, and he saw her jaw flex as indecision warred in her eyes. Alex turned to leave, pausing by another tech’s desk on a last moment impulse. “And Harvey, mind the caps-lock key. It can be easy to hit and not realize it, but do that again, and you’ll run into the same problems we untangled in the past few nights,” he said, and Harvey nodded, face pinking at the reminder.

“Yes, sir,” he mumbled, ignoring a few strained laughs from his neighbors.

Alex merely grinned before he pulled on his cardigan, waving once to another group of staff before breathing a quiet sigh of relief when he looked up to see James near the door— _no, that’s Trevelyan. But James stood there, every fucking day he was home, didn’t he?_ _We were always there for each other, even after Skyfall, but he’s been hurting as much as I have in the past seven months…I’ve been seeing it, but didn’t remember enough to recognize it._ He paused by another desk to steady himself before pressing forward. “Damnit all, James…I didn’t… _damn_ , I’m so sorry for not noticing sooner,” he muttered under his breath as he walked calmly past Trevelyan, reaching out and catching the agent’s suit sleeve with a sharp tug. “Tell me you have your keys,” he said as Trevelyan abruptly stumbled, leaving sharp gasps in their wake seconds before the Q-Branch doors closed behind them.

“Yes, I still have my keys. Are you holding me to that favor I promised?” Trevelyan asked as he nudged Alex towards a side door that Alex had almost completely overlooked. “Just wondering, I have to know where we’re going in order to get you there,” he said when Alex scowled at him. “And whether I should be preparing to file a report of a double-oh’s death, you look like you just caught James messing around in the labs in the middle of the night again,” he said as he pushed open the door to the parking garage and held it open, allowing Alex to slip past him.

“I’m hoping that it won’t come down to that,” Alex said, brow furrowing at the thought of approaching James after the agent’s cold departure at the embassy. _No matter how this ends, it will be the last time I go after him, I can’t keep doing this and I don’t think he can either._ He stepped aside to allow Trevelyan through, pausing on the curb when Trevelyan signaled for him to wait. He hugged himself for warmth, trying to reason with the guilt for not noticing James’s own signals sooner and wishing momentarily that he could turn the clock back, so that he could have escaped, so that none of this could have happened.

_But it did, and there’s still a little time to fix things._

Trevelyan brought the car around a few moments later, the heater on full blast as Alex wordlessly slid into the passenger seat. He tucked his fingers into cardigan sleeves after buckling himself in, tucking himself into a small ball to preserve his warmth. He frowned as a thought occurred to him, as Trevelyan pulled the car out of the garage and up to the end of the drive, and then asked, “James…he doesn’t live in the same building that we did, does he?”

“What? No, oh no, he doesn’t. He lives closer to there than he does to MI6, but he doesn’t go home very often anyway,” Trevelyan said, easily guiding the vehicle towards Westminster Bridge. “The building’s reserved for high level MI6 personnel, so it’s nearly impossible to find via satellite or Google Maps, but no one wanted to kick him out after you left. He stayed and the building manager conveniently overlooked his presence even though an MI6 administrator belongs there,” he explained, glancing briefly at Alex, who frowned, something niggling in the back of his mind about Trevelyan’s words— _something doesn’t seem right._

“Well, that at least explains why I couldn’t find it when I found the address on my Universal Exports profile,” Alex said, the corner of his mouth twitching when Trevelyan turned sharply to face him.

“Wait, so most of that hacking _was_ you? What about the ‘Come find me’ message left in James’s MI6 profile?” Trevelyan asked, Alex barely detecting the waver in the agent’s voice as though he was torn between irritation and amusement.

Alex shrugged with one shoulder. “I had questions, and I thought James had answers. I didn’t really think that one through, I was still in shock over recognizing my work in MI6 firewalls and accidentally hacking into Tanner’s computer,” he said, earning a snort from Trevelyan. “I did try to repair the lingering damage that I recently found, during one of the few nights that Q and R allowed me to work in the branch,” he admitted, trying not to smile at the _rush_ he’d experienced once he’d gotten to legally navigate the systems that were more intimately familiar than he expected.

“Q was a nervous wreck for days afterwards, hell, he sent me to verify that it was you so he could eliminate you as a suspect,” Trevelyan said, unconsciously shifting one of his feet closer to his body before moving it back to the gas pedal as they turned onto a vaguely familiar street. “What would you like me to do, once you head inside?” he asked, Alex wiping the condensation from his window to get a better view of the street numbers. He blinked, recognizing the numerous signs and late night pedestrians as Trevelyan slowed the car down, evidently looking through his own window.

“Just hover until I text you, regardless of what happens inside,” Alex said, gesturing for Trevelyan to slow down and pull over. “That’s the building, I recognize the numbers,” he said, unbuckling his safety belt.

“All right then, just please try not to kill him. Eve and Q would not forgive either of us for the resulting paperwork, and I do need someone to occasionally bail me out of trouble,” Trevelyan said, pulling the car over to the indicated spot. He sighed, and then said, “Good luck up there.”

“Thank you…Alec.” It felt odd, using the agent’s first name: even when they had both been civilians, or at least when Trevelyan was pretending, Alex had never addressed him by his first name. Trevelyan merely straightened in his seat, saluting Alex as he grabbed his bag before getting out of the car, closing the door a few moments later.

The building’s main lobby was quiet, more so than Alex anticipated despite the late hour. He paused at the unexpected surge of nostalgic comfort and the slight twinge of familiar irritation, especially when he turned to find that the no one sat at the front desk. _Case and point, Ian, anyone can just bloody walk in when you’re off with your television shows_. He headed towards the lifts, stamping down the urge to report Ian— _that was his name, we made it a game to see if I could catch him, especially since I held odd hours at work_ —as he pressed the button for the lifts, resting the computer bag on his good shoulder. He glanced at the front doors when he heard footsteps, but ducked in time to avoid Ian’s gaze as the guard returned to his post, settling back down in his chair. Alex remained still, managing to slip into the lift before Ian noticed him.

_Too close, too close…_

He tried to shake the sense of unease in his gut, watching the numbers climb to the storey where James’s flat— _and apparently mine_ —was located. It felt odd, being in the car without his usual computer bag at his side, but he tried not to dwell on it too much as he stepped off after what felt like hours. He walked quickly down the hall, searching for the proper door before he could lose his nerve, the hall carpeting that he’d always hated muffling his footsteps. His throat felt thick as he passed other flats, the owners’ names coming suddenly to mind as he walked past each door. Alex only paused in front of the only door, near the end of the hall and next to the stairwell, which had a little control panel sitting next to the doorknob.

Without thinking, Alex reached up and calmly typed in the four digits.

_Beep!_

He jumped when the panel light turned green, but pushed the door open before he could change his mind, slipping a foot into the crack before squeezing himself inside. Careful not to let the door slam shut, he checked that it was locked again before he slowly exhaled before turning around, his breath catching as he looked around the old flat.

The furniture was different, but were in the same formation that Alex remembered and had seen through the photographs on his old computer— _the Quartermaster’s computer_ —while still at Skyfall. He felt a knot form in his throat as he walked unsteadily into the flat, running a hand across the sofa armrest as he glanced around the corner, heart twisting to see familiar scratch marks in the closed bedroom door at the end of the short hall. Lamps and small tables were still in the spots he’d left them in, and his breath caught when he saw a painfully familiar ceramic teapot on the kitchenette counter, gathering its own coat of dust. _James got that in Beijing, in January 2015, to apologize for his reckless behavior_. If he closed his eyes, he could still picture the agent’s worried yet guilty expression as he tightly held Alex, who had worn himself out after yelling at the agent. Alex leaned forward to get a better look at the teapot, only to stop when he caught sight of an old cat toy lying in the corner underneath the ground row of cabinets.

_Missy was definitely here._

He choked back a sob, leaning on the counter to support himself as he tried to bring himself back under control. A soft whisper of fabric against skin, and Alex fell still, extremely aware of James standing behind him. “I’m—I’m sorry, I’ll be gone in a moment,” he rasped out, unable to face the agent. _It was a mistake to come here; I shouldn’t have come here, even to talk to him._ “James, I’m sorry, I didn’t know that you—” he began.

“Alex, stop. It’s fine, please stay.” Alex felt a gentle yet familiar hand on his shoulder. “This was your home more than it was ever mine, I just moved in here after you invited me,” James said quietly, gently tilting Alex’s chin so that Alex could see him. Alex stared at him for a moment, the agent wearing an unusual T-shirt and jeans instead of his suits, but then he reached up without thinking when he saw, for what felt like the first time, the muted sadness and concern in the agent’s eyes. He placed what he thought was a reassuring hand on James’s shoulder, feeling for a moment as though they were back at Skyfall, within the confines of a mutual territory where Alex still felt a stranger.

_His life is on the bloody line; if it’s not the Riddler threatening him, it’s M._

“James…back at Skyfall…when I stepped on Winston’s tail,” he began slowly, the agent nodding with an arched brow as he undoubtedly recalled that moment. “I heard you, talking to Kincade, I think. You said—”

“Alec thought that I should tell you about M’s plans for you, whether you remembered your former role at MI6 or not,” James said quietly, nodding once towards the sofa before he stepped away. “Do you want tea?” he asked, pausing as Alex followed him to the living room. Confused, Alex shook his head before he gingerly sat down on the seat closest to the armchair that James appropriated for himself. For a moment, the agent didn’t speak, staring at the table over folded hands before he looked up at Alex, face impassive. “I didn’t want to tell you at the time because I was afraid of causing further distress. Alec and Tess were only ever watching you in case you presented a threat to MI6, and both had standing orders with full permissions to use whatever means necessary to stop you. Including murder if it came down to it,” he said finally, carefully watching Alex, who swallowed back a twinge of nausea. _How close did I brush with death in the last seven months alone?_

“Why?” he finally managed to ask, recalling his brief encounters with M; while his interactions with the director had been civil enough, James had been near bristling when M assured Q of his freedom earlier that morning, before they had left for the embassy. “I haven’t done anything in those seven months, I swear the hacking was a one time accident—”

“Oh no, Q reported the hacking, but Tess claimed it was an accident, said you said as much to her,” James said, watching him carefully. “M was always afraid of a repeat of Silva, if you recall Operation Skyfall, except much worse since you had three years of experience at MI6, spending the majority of that time as a department leader,” he said, bringing to mind the niggling suspicion in the back of Alex’s mind with just two words.

Alex opened his mouth, but then quietly closed it again as he felt a cold, numbing sensation shoot through his veins. “But I’m not—” he tried to say, but stopped when he suddenly remembered the ruins of the branch, the burn scars that had lingered over a year after the explosions. The National Gallery, he remembered being fucking terrified— _Double-oh seven, I’m your new Quartermaster_ —but every odd little puzzle piece that he couldn’t place in his mind suddenly made more sense, from Q’s deference upon Alex’s arrival to the ease at which he handled managing his little staff— _and the interns at R.I.E._ He looked up at James, who had knelt at some point in front of him. “M will never leave me alone then, would he?” he finally whispered, voice wavering as he tried to think of where to _start_ with the new information. “That computer…”

“He won’t leave you alone, especially after you managed to unlock your own computer and get secrets meant for an MI6 employee, not a civilian,” James said, extending a hand when Alex reached for him, wrapping his hand in his own. “I’m sorry.”

Alex looked up in slight confusion, momentarily thrown by the unfamiliar defeat in James’s eyes. “Sorry for what?” he asked, frowning as James shrugged with one shoulder.

“For not doing a better job. For not telling you…about what we discussed at the embassy. I never intended to harm you, I just wanted to do right by you,” James said, squeezing Alex’s hand as he reached up with the other to clasp Alex’s. He closed his eyes for a moment, and then shook his head before Alex could speak. “I’m sorry, that’s probably not the entire reason you came here,” he said, sliding his hands from Alex’s grip as he sighed, standing up with a grunt before returning to the armchair. “Last night at MI6, correct?” he asked, voice still gentle but Alex still saw his words for what they were. _Nice try, but I know a distraction when I see one, and I didn’t learn just from you._

“No, you’re right, that’s not  _entirely_  why I decided to come here,” he said instead, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees as he looked at James, who remained silent, never looking away. Throat suddenly dry, Alex squared his shoulders and tilted his head slightly, meeting the agent’s steady gaze with one of his own. “I…despite everything that’s happened since we met again, I came here because I want to give us one more chance. Do you?” he asked quietly, watching James carefully as the agent fell still.

James remained silent for what stretched into minutes for Alex, staring at him with a furrowed brow and a quiet intensity that Alex hadn’t realized he’d missed until he saw it again. With a long yet quiet sigh, James leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as the dim glow of the nearby lamp slid across his face to sufficiently—and maddeningly—hide his expression from Alex, who didn’t move. Quietly nurturing his hope, Alex looked down at his hands, blinking when he remembered that Trevelyan was still waiting downstairs. He started to reach for his mobile, intending to text the other man with at least a request to stay a little longer—

A shadow fell across his hands, and he looked up to see James kneel in front of him again, still wearing a carefully constructed mask, but Alex could see the cracks beginning to form, especially around his eyes. “I—” he stopped, inhaled as though to rally himself, and then exhaled, looking down as Alex wrapped his hands again.

“Just remember what I said at the embassy, and you’ll be fine,” he whispered in what he hoped was encouragement, closing his eyes as he rested his forehead against James’s. “Please.”

He froze when he felt James reach up and gently run a careful hand through his hair before resting it against his cheek. “Yes…I do want this chance,” he said finally, the corner of his mouth twitching when Alex looked up sharply, nearly knocking their heads together. “Stay the night? Just…just to sleep,” he clarified.

Alex nodded, grinning when James leaned forward to brush a gentle kiss against his temple. He made a face before turning to meet James for another kiss, a soft press of lips as he felt James’s breathing hitch underneath a palm resting on James’s chest. Careful fingers brushed against his cheek, leaving cool air in its wake. “Is everything all right?” James murmured a second later, brushing away a few more tears with a thumb as he frowned in concern.

“Yes…I’m fine,” Alex replied, momentarily surprised by the relief stealing across his heart and spreading to his limbs. “I feel…fine, I’m going to be fine, we’re going to be fine,” he whispered, voice cracking even as James laughed softly, reaching up to wrap his arms around James’s neck to pull him closer. “Everything is going to be f—” he began, but let out a yelp when James cut him off with another kiss, deepening it and capturing the small moan. “I—I should probably alert Trevelyan that I’m staying,” he said once he was able to pull away to catch his breath.

James kissed his forehead before standing up, squeezing Alex’s hand before letting him go, their fingers brushing against each other. “I’ll see if I can find something for you to use tonight, the manager still hasn’t fixed the bloody heater and I’m not around often enough to consistently remind him,” he said, eyes closing when Alex stood up to kiss him lightly on the nose. “Is there anything at Six, or your old flat, that you would like me to get for you?” he asked quietly, pulling Alex close into another embrace.

“No…we can discuss that in the morning, I’ll be fine for now,” Alex assured him, letting James go to fix his crooked glasses. He pulled his mobile out, meeting James for one more kiss, this time edged with a sharp longing that tugged at Alex’s own heart, and then James left, padding down the hall towards the bedroom. Alex merely smiled to himself as he turned back to the mobile, closing his eyes as he felt a familiar and comfortable sense of peace wash away the stress and earlier anxiety of the day.

_I’m finally home._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you all again next time! :)


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Heads-Up:** Non-consensual drug use at the end; if you wish to avoid it, a good place to stop would be when Alex enters Medical. Explanation of final events at end of chapter.

With a jolt, Alex’s eyes snapped open and he froze, disoriented in the darkness.

He held his breath and carefully scanned what little he could see of the room from his vantage point as he felt cold fingers already sliding away, taking the fear with it. Vague shapes seem to form in the gloom as he slowly shifted his right arm from where he’d tucked it underneath the pillow, and he paused only when he spotted the gray-white-yellow rectangle in front of him— _the bedroom window overlooking the street_ —and then became aware of the warm weight gently spooning him from behind under the shared duvet… _James, I’m with James._ Quietly sighing to himself, he turned around in place, scooting forward into the comforting warm cocoon of duvet and James as an arm casually slid across his waist and tuck him back into the comforting embrace, the agent’s breathing steady yet measured— _he’s awake_.

 _Thirty seconds in, thirty seconds out. In, and out._ Alex swallowed back a knot of lingering fear before he scooted a bit closer to the agent, gently nuzzling the familiar roughened skin of James’s collarbone. He closed his eyes when he felt James gently run his fingers through his hair, snuggling closer when he felt James shift his arm underneath to better pull Alex closer. “’M…I’m sorry for waking you up,” he finally mumbled into the hollow of James’s throat, allowing the agent to rub his back.

“Was it a nightmare?” James asked quietly, gently massaging Alex’s bad shoulder.

“I—I’m not entirely sure,” Alex admitted, the familiar chill of the room settling against his skin where the borrowed T-shirt slipped from his shoulder as he fought to remain awake despite James’s ministrations. “I’m getting tired of saying this, but I don’t remember why I woke up.” He hesitated, and then grimaced when he realized that James’s breathing was slowing down again. “What time is it?”

“Seven fifteen. Neither of us _have_ to go in, so don’t worry,” James replied calmly, his fingers carding though his hair for a few more seconds before he slowly pulled his hand free. His other arm abruptly tightened around Alex’s waist seconds before curling his body forward, gently settling around Alex’s form as Alex squeaked in muted protest. “Sorry, sorry, you’re shivering,” he heard James murmur as the agent pulled the sheets and duvet closer around the two of them, tucking in the edges and moving a pillow onto his shoulder before allowing Alex to rest his head on the pillow. “Better?”

“Mm, yes, thank you.” Alex sank into the welcoming warmth, blinking drowsily again as memories of the night before slowly filtered into his consciousness. He felt a shiver run up his spine at James’s warning the night before, feeling hollow and sick at the thought of M arranging his assassination, the nausea lingering when he suddenly recalled Marcela’s— _R’s_ —face when he’d left the branch last night. _Had she and Q known? Would they have given the orders if—yes, they would, I would expect nothing less of them._

Suppressing a sigh, he remained still on James’s shoulder before starting to pull himself up again. “I really should be getting ready then, if it’s almost seven thirty. I have to see O’Reilly in a little over an hour and amnesia or not, I _know_ that traffic is murder to get through if you’re caught out in it at the wrong time,” he said, resting his forehead against James’s so he could see the agent’s eyes, grinning before he leaned back to lightly kiss James’s nose. “And since my appointment is at nine, I’d rather leave now than later.”

“Or you could leave later, and blame it on traffic,” James suggested, running his hands down Alex’s torso before he slipped them underneath the hem of Alex’s shirt, gliding across his skin before settling at the hem of his borrowed sweatpants. A familiar smirk tugged at his features, and he said, “Leave later, spend a few more minutes here…”

“James, if I don’t get out now, then I never will,” Alex interrupted even as he let himself lie back down on James’s torso, closing his eyes at the callused hands gently rubbing his lower back. “Five more minutes, and then we go back to headquarters. The sooner we go there, the sooner we’ll be able to come back home.” _Home: I’m home._ He buried his face into the crook of James’s neck, smiling drowsily as he fell still again.

Then he felt the agent grin.

“James, whatever you’re planning, don’t you fucking dare—”

The rest of the threat dissolved into a half-yelp, half-grunt as Alex’s world tilted sharply a moment later when James tightened his grip and flipped him onto his back, the mattress creaking underneath as Alex bounced upon impact with an indignant squawk. “All right, you lose. Getting up now,” he said, attempting to wriggle out of James’s grip as the agent groaned in mock hurt. “Come on, surely you have something to do as well, such as reporting in to Q-Branch with whatever is left of your tech?” he said, raising a brow when James didn’t immediately budge.

“I don’t know; are you going to go there as well, today?” James countered, obediently moving when Alex pushed his shoulders back. Careful not to crush him, James rolled to the side, allowing Alex to finally get up and move to sit on the side of the bed. “I mean, approaching Q about returning there shouldn’t be difficult now. Besides, it’s not exactly an office secret that Riley misses his old post, he thought he’d have more time to learn under you before, well, it became necessary to replace you,” he explained, sitting up in bed as well. Alex started to walk towards the bureau when he belatedly remembered that he didn’t have his clothes in the flat except for what he wore last night.

Alex sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. “I haven’t decided about that, I don’t even know where to start,” he admitted, turning around to face James. “I mean, even though I would like to at least _stay_ in the branch, I don’t want to put agents at risk because I froze at the wrong moment. He paused to catch his breath, looking away as he tried to summon the words he wanted to use. “I can still remember Paris, everything from hacking into the computer to getting shot,” he said, stretching his spine as James slowly got out of bed. He shook his head, and then asked, “Um, did Trevelyan bring me any—”

“Black duffel on the chair next to the bureau. I let him in last night, after you had gone to sleep,” James said, pausing at Alex’s side. “I also told him that I could bring you in this morning, but if you would rather go with him—” he began, but Alex stopped him.

“No, it’s fine,” Alex said, grinning slightly before he pulled out a forest-green cardigan from the duffel, one he certainly didn’t remember packing. “What I wouldn’t give to have my memory fully intact again,” he muttered under his breath as he ran the tangibly familiar yet worn fabric through his fingers, trying to place where he had seen the cardigan before— _it would have been the last time I wore it…which was when?_

He heard James slowly approach him from behind, footsteps loud and deliberate, and he relaxed when he felt two familiar hands rest on his upper arms, squeezing reassuringly before gently massaging the muscles. He closed his eyes when he felt James press a gentle kiss to his temple before squeezing his biceps once more. “Time, Alex, you will heal in time,” he said as Alex leaned back to rest his head on James’s sternum. He was quiet for a moment, and then he murmured, “Earl Grey with two sugars?”

“Please…and thank you,” Alex replied, setting the cardigan down as James held him for a second longer before stepping away to gather his suit from the closet. Alex glanced at him for a second as the agent left the bedroom, carefully closing the door behind him with a soft _click_. He began dressing then, stomach twisting at the reminder that Miller still awaited for the completion of his report— _should I continue that as though I didn’t remember?_ While he couldn’t remember if Miller was bound by law to keep unsolicited information from M, he _did_ remember that psych evaluations had the biggest risk of circulation around department heads. He paused when pulling on his trousers at the familiar twinge of unease in his gut; _no matter how ‘secret’ a file is, it’s still susceptible to theft and decryption. I would know, I did most of it myself as Q._

“Fine, I’ll talk to Q today. I need to get my jacket back anyway and ask him if he can keep my psych files secret,” Alex said as he walked into the living room, adjusting the cardigan around his frame. He paused in front of the counter separating the kitchenette from the living room, making a face when James quirked a brow. “What?”

“You look nice,” James replied with a slight smile as he pushed the travel mug across the counter to Alex. “As for your branch, I’m sure they’ll be delighted to have you back,” he said as Alex grabbed the mug to inhale the steam, eyes fluttering closed for a moment before he took his first careful sip.

“James, they’re not ‘my’ branch anymore—”

“Regardless of who is Quartermaster, they still look out for each other. Q vetted countless potential coworkers when you were still searching for a job,” James interrupted as he poured his coffee into another travel mug, Alex blinking in surprise at his words. Holton came briefly to mind in that moment, but Alex chose to hold his peace instead of mentioning it; he had no doubt that the man forged his own records well enough to pass inspection and checks. “Besides, going might also give them a peace of mind that you’re healing, and I’m less likely to snap at any moment.” He kissed Alex on the forehead before walking past him to get the car keys, which were on a small table beside the door.

Alex shook his head in amusement before following James, mirroring him when James turned to face him, mouth thinned in familiar worry. He hesitated when Alex looked up at him with a frown, but then sighed. “Listen…whatever you decide today about the future…this place will always be a home, and I will be wherever you want me,” he said carefully, retracting his hand as Alex studied him.

“I want you to stay,” Alex said firmly a moment later, reaching up to loop his arms around the back of James’s neck even as he allowed the agent to slowly back him up against the front door. “Will you stay?” he asked, tightening his grip when he saw James’s familiar smirk ghost across the other’s features.

“Yes, I will stay,” James said, grinning as he leaned down for a kiss, wrapping a hand against the back of Alex’s head to protect him from the door. Alex let out a stuttering groan as he met James in the kiss, momentarily fighting the agent for dominance before he relaxed, closing his eyes as James gently applied firm and familiar pressure while licking and nibbling his way into Alex’s mouth.

 _“Fuck_ ,” Alex breathed when he spread his stance just slightly to allow James to slip a thigh between his legs, gently pressing against his growing arousal as Alex pulled him down for another kiss. He squirmed within his confines of James’s body, muttering _“Fuck_ ,” underneath his breath at the sudden surge of longing in his gut when he numbly realized the unusual lack of intimacy he’d experienced in the past seven months. “James, tonight. Wait until tonight, I’m…I’m not going to last very long right now, it’s been a while for me,” he whispered, face burning as he buried it into James’s suit jacket as the agent took a step back and ran a soothing hand down his back.

“All right, it’s all right, I’m sorry. I wanted to talk to O’Reilly first anyway before we took things any further,” James murmured into Alex’s hair before straightening to better reach his coat. “Being in a bed might help too,” he added, winking as he handed the coat over to Alex. Alex feinted a smack to the agent’s shoulder, James easily stepping aside before stealing a quick kiss and leaving the flat. “Stairs or lift?” he asked, glancing at Alex, who started walking towards the lift as he rearranged the coat around himself.

“I feel better about the lift,” Alex said without thinking, and James nodded once in acknowledgement. He started walking towards the lifts, swallowing back the knot in his throat as he unwittingly recalled his flight from Reardon’s attack, the few bruises he’d acquired from slipping down one or two stairs at a time. Suddenly in need of a distraction, he pressed the button to summon the lift, and said, “Last night, Edward Holton confessed to Reardon’s current hideout, which matched up with the data on Q’s monitors from his tracker.” His brows furrowed as he recalled yesterday afternoon and early evening with the same twist of unease in his gut that had accompanied the faceless nightmare that morning. “Mrs. Holton…she’s been unconscious since they arrived to headquarters yesterday. She was too incoherent with hysteria; even Miller couldn’t calm her down. M tried asking her one or two questions before knocking her out, she kept begging to return home to the States,” he added, following James into the open lift doors.

“Was she grieving at all for her dead son?” James asked, frowning.

Alex opened his mouth to respond, but faltered when he thought back to yesterday morning, when both Agent Waters and Trevelyan escorted Mrs. Holton out of the embassy to an armored car separate from her husband’s. She hadn’t even struggled, unlike Edward who had been knocked out with a vase from the embassy lobby, but instead quietly cried as the agents brought her to the vehicle. “No…she was crying, but she was pale, trembling and almost unable to walk on her own,” Alex said, glancing up at James, who arched a brow. “Do you think that tells us anything?” he asked.

“No, it doesn’t,” James said after a moment, shaking his head. “She could be afraid of the impending consequences, or about to be wrongfully labeled as a terrorist, or that’s her way of handling grief. We’ll never know for sure unless she tells us what we want to know,” he said as the lift doors opened and they stepped out into the lobby empty save for the receptionist, who barely spared them a glance before she looked sharply back at them two seconds later. Ignoring her, James turned back to face Alex, stepping close to close the top four buttons on the coat. “Do you want to wait here, and I’ll bring the car around?” he asked quietly, moving onto the fifth button.

“All right, watch out for ice,” Alex said, accepting the brief kiss with a smile before James left, moving to the side to avoid the blast of cold air. He glanced at the receptionist, who nodded once in greeting when they made eye contact. “Carol, right?” he guessed, grinning when she nodded in confirmation. “I trust all is well?”

“Yes, thank you sir. It’s good to see you again,” she said, smiling as Alex walked over to her counter. “Will you be here to stay?” she asked, setting her pen down.

“Yes, I will. Ah, do tell Ian, if you see him, that he really needs to keep a better watch during his shifts, managed to sneak in unnoticed,” Alex said, grinning when Carol groaned and muttered something under her breath that sounded similar to ‘that damn man’. She then glanced towards his left, and he turned to see James pull up to the curb just outside the front doors.

“Oh, I’ll definitely be telling him all about it,” she muttered as she leaned forward slightly as though to get a better look. “Do have a nice day, Mr. Winfield, it was lovely to see you again,” she said, turning back to face him.

“Thank you, you too,” Alex said, nodding once towards her before shoving his hands into his pockets, using his shoulder to push the doors open. James’s Aston Martin— _different than the one we used to return to London_ —idled by the curb, and he could see James unbuckling himself in order to lean over and open the passenger door. “Out of curiosity, will Trevelyan be waiting for me when we get there?” he asked, sliding into his seat and closing the door. He closed his eyes, stretching in the heated car interior.

“No, he won’t. Technically, he’s no longer under orders to follow you around anymore, as promised yesterday at the embassy. I think he’s going to find the Phillips girl and apologize for ignoring her over the last week or two, he’s smitten,” James said, glancing at Alex before pulling back into the road. “I have his number, in the off chance that you don’t,” he said, glancing at Alex.

“Don’t bother, I have his number. Although…” he hesitated, recalling something else, and then asked, “Would you mind accompanying me, when I go see Stafford today? He and I had arranged to meet at lunch, and Trevelyan was going to come since I thought we…you and I weren’t speaking anymore. But I can contact Trevelyan about it, unless you don’t want to go, in which case I—” he said, calming down when he felt James’s fingers wrap around his own and remain in a gentle grip.

“Of course, Alex, it’s been a while since I’ve spoken with Stafford anyway,” James said, jaw flexing as he glanced at Alex— _he still remembers_. “I can text Trevelyan, I have a few questions for him as it is about Mrs. Holton’s behavior so I’ll ask him then,” he said, frowning as someone cut him off. “Where are we meeting Stafford?”

“Let me check.” Alex patted himself down for his mobile, frowning when he felt nothing. “Damn…must have left it back at the flat,” he muttered under his breath, scowling when he caught sight of the grin that tugged James’s features. “It was an accident this time, I swear, do _not_ look at me like that,” he said, unable to remain irritated when James snorted in amusement, shaking his head even as he returned his attention back to the road. Alex merely didn’t press the issue, absently rubbing his temples instead.

“To be fair, you were off-duty and R found you quickly through me,” James said, shifting lanes again before preparing for the next turn. “Do you want me to turn around so that you can get it?” he asked, arching a brow when Alex shook his head.

Alex swallowed back the reflexive unease and irritation that came with a misplaced mobile— _I don’t have a staff to be constantly monitoring._ “No, I’ll only be in MI6 headquarters all morning, and can easily steal someone’s computer to look up the email. Not to mention I can borrow your mobile again since we’ll be together the few times we leave,” he said, adjusting the coat as James made the final turn for Westminster Bridge. “And we can always pick it up after lunch, it’s not an emergency. I think I have three numbers in the contact list and one of them is yours and the other is Trevelyan,” he said, stretching in his seat as he wrapped the coat tighter around himself. Taking another sip of tea, he felt his stomach turn slightly and mouth go dry at the sight of MI6 headquarters across the Thames, its cameras still visible despite the distance. _And to think that M would have had me killed._ “James?”

“Yes?”

“If possible…I don’t want to advertise to M that I sort of remember being quartermaster, I want a chance to speak to Q and R first in private,” Alex said, nearly dropping the travel mug as he leaned forward to grasp the door handle. James made the sharp left off the bridge a few seconds later, easily cutting across traffic to reach the driveway that wrapped around MI6 headquarters.

“I’ll keep that in mind, and if I see him, I’ll tell him that you still haven’t decided on a course of action. It’s likely, given that I still haven’t given him an after-action report from Paris,” James said as he entered the underground garage and pulled into the nearest slot, the engine whining slightly as he turned it off. Alex leaned over for a quick kiss— _this, I remember doing this_ —before unbuckling himself and reflexively reaching for an absent computer bag. _I’ve got to train myself out of some of these reactions_. He pushed his car door open, shivering despite the coat as he followed James to the entrance and leaned against the agent for more warmth as James waved his ID card over the reader.

“We’ve got to fix some of the security protocols both here and at the flat, or at least strengthen them,” he said as the two of them walked towards the lifts. “By all rights, I should not have been able to walk into either of these buildings without security descending upon us. I could have followed you, or a desk employee, in here for all we know,” he said, arching a brow at James, who shrugged. “Or perhaps more than a card swipe, something that requires biological identification on top of the usual.”

“Personally, I’d break in here somewhere other than the garage, it’s too difficult to sweep a large area for cameras that can blend in with the dark,” James replied, pressing the button for the lifts. “A window, perhaps, you can find the blind spots on the roof and focus on weakening the window locks,” he said, grinning as the doors opened.

“There shouldn’t _be_ any blind spots, don’t you know how fucking terrifying it was to fix those?” Alex said irritably as he pinched the bridge of his nose, a familiar headache that he hadn’t experienced in months. Pressing the button for Medical as James slipped in, he turned to James. “ _When_ you go report the lack of weaponry to Q, mention those oversights as well or I will,” he said, arching a brow as the lift began to ascend.

James huffed. “The assumption that I have no equipment to return hurts.”

“Is it true or not?” Alex countered, relaxing when James shrugged. “See? You—”

_Beep! Beep! Beep!_

Alex jumped at the shrill noise even as James abruptly reached into his own trouser pocket, pulling out the chirping mobile. Swiping the screen, he studied the message for a few seconds before he looked at Alex. “Mrs. Holton is awake, and M wants me present for her interrogation,” he said, mouth twitching when Alex scowled.

“May I join you then, once I’m done here?” he asked as the lift stopped.

“Sub-level Five, I’ll be with Eve if you need to call,” James replied, pressing the mobile into Alex’s hand before stealing another kiss. Alex nodded, squeezing James’s hand one more time before stepping off the lift.

He pocked the mobile as he headed towards Medical, mildly surprised to find that the doors had been propped open. Ellen, as usual, sat at the front desk surrounded with a mess of paperwork, brow furrowed as she glanced between two documents. “Good morning Ellen,” he said, leaning on the counter as she looked up in mild surprise.

“Good morning, Mr. Winfield. Due to the lack of buzz this morning, I’m assuming you did in fact _not_ kill double-oh seven last night?” Ellen asked, keeping a straight face as Alex blinked at her in surprise. “CCTV can be quite a crucial element in settling inter-department bets, and we had our eye on some American medical tech that came out recently,” she said, finally grinning as she winked at him.

“Oh, congratulations to the winner,” he said as Ellen turned in her seat to signal a brunette nurse standing nearby, whose head was slightly bowed even as she walked over.

“That would be Q-Branch,” Ellen said, making a face before she gestured to the nurse. “Mr. Winfield, this is Isabel. She will assist you with the preliminary physical examinations today before O’Reilly sees you. He’s running a little late this morning because he found a flat tire before he left his house,” Ellen said, shrugging with a shoulder. “Room Twelve, and Isabel, prep him for the MRI, O’Reilly has decided to go ahead with it,” she said, glancing at Alex. “You two _did_ discuss that, right?”

“Yes, we did. Thank you.” Alex followed Isabel down the hall to a different ward than from where he’d spent the last few days. “Do you happen to know what images O’Reilly is hoping to get from the MRI?” he asked as she stepped back, gesturing to the room in question. He went in ahead of her, and she silently closed the door behind him.

“Yes, he plans to take a few images from different angles, which means you should take off your coat and place all electronics and metal items in here,” Isabel replied, offering a plastic bin, which Alex took and set aside. “It will be locked during the procedure, O’Reilly hopes to do it later this morning,” she explained as he shrugged the coat off, placing James’s mobile and a few of his coins into the bin. He paused at the slight spasm of pain in his head, and he rubbed his temples as Isabel took the bin away and placed it on the counter on the opposite side of the room from him. “Is everything all right?” she asked, pausing when she turned.

“Yes, just a minor headache, it’s been a long couple of days. May I have a paracetamol? Or would that interfere with the MRI?” he asked, and she shook her head.

“No, it should be fine. Here, give me a moment,” she replied, turning back around to face the counter. She reached for a bottle, but he only heard the rattling of pills before she turned around with a single pill in the palm of her hand. “Do you want water?”

“No thank you.” Alex swallowed the pill and began to pull his cardigan off next. The fabric still covered his eyes when he heard a familiar _thunk_ of a lock sliding into place. “What was that?” he blurted out, dropping the cardigan to the floor in surprise, adjusting his glasses as Isabel turned away from the door, tilting her head in curiosity.

“Oh, just locking the door so you can’t escape for the third time,” she replied with a soft smile as she walked back to the other counter, leaning against it so that the bin— _with James’s mobile_ —was out of sight. _And out of reach_. “It takes a few seconds for the sedative to kick in, the Riddler was getting annoyed with how long it was taking to capture you,” she said, shrugging with a shoulder as Alex lurched for the door, nearly stumbling before collapsing as his legs failed to support him. “He was going to deal with you personally this afternoon if I failed,” she said, pain shooting up Alex’s side as he made contact with the tiled floor, his glasses clattering away from his face. _No, no, no—_

“But the embassy…” he whispered helplessly, blinking as a blurry pair of shoes entered his vision a few seconds later. He couldn’t move now, he could feel the numbness spreading in his limbs.

“Just a repeat of Sydney, _caro mio_. I promise this sedative will wear off in a couple hours with no side effects, he wants you alive and unharmed,” she said, using a foot to nudge Alex onto his back. He saw her features move into what he suspected was a fake sympathetic smile before she said, “ _Buona notte_ _, Signor Winfield_.”

Alex only managed a faint squeak before darkness overwhelmed him, rendering him unconscious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Essentially, what happens is that instead of paracetamol for a headache, Alex receives a sedative from for one of the Riddler's lieutenants in disguise in order to ease smuggling him out of MI6 headquarters.


	35. Chapter 35

For a split second, as he clawed his way back to consciousness, Alex thought he was back in St. Bart’s Intensive Care Unit. He pressed his lips tightly together to hold back the bubble of anger and grief lodging itself in his chest as he squeezed his eyes tighter, trying to keep his composure in case the nurse was nearby and he lashed out in anger again. His fingers curled against his shirt as he focused on holding back a scream…

 _No, no, no, not when I just got James back._ Gritting his teeth, he tried to focus through the aching fog in the back of his head, keeping his eyes closed in an effort to better assess his condition. Frustration grew in his chest as his attention kept slipping with each little spark of dulled pain shooting up from his left leg, hip and ribs. Pins and needles flared in his left arm when he reflexively tried to move it, and he almost lashed out in frustration when a lance of fire shot up his right leg at the attempted kick. He grimaced, falling still as he felt sharp little rocks digging into the palms of his hands and into the left side of his face.

_Pain. If I’m in pain, then I’m not at the hospital. James._

Swallowing with a dry and scratchy throat, he forced his eyes to open despite the grit in his lashes, his right hand moving almost reflexively to wipe the debris away with his wrist a moment later. Then, mindful of his still-swimming head, he cautiously looked up to examine his surroundings.

A set of blurry bars with dim patches of light in between filled his field of vision, and he blinked again in an attempt to get a better look as he felt his heart rate begin to slow down; _I’m in a cell, and the Riddler wants me alive. James still has time, when he notices that I’m gone…fuck._ Alex closed his eyes, slowly breathing again as he turned his focus back to his left arm’s position and the dull ache in his shoulder— _both shoulders, someone recently aggravated the injury by pulling me around by my shoulders_ —and then counted to five, tensing his left shoulder when he got to one, and then propelled himself over despite the little darts of fire that shot through the limb as he rolled onto his back.

_Thunk!_

“ _Shit!_ ” he muttered, freezing in place when the back of his head hit the stone floor, a fresh wave of nausea reverberating through the fog still clinging to his brain. He tried to catch his breath through the rough, prickly sensation of blood returning to his left arm and hand, and then felt around on the ground near his body, fingers outstretched as he tried to locate his glasses. He huffed impatiently when he didn’t locate them on either side of his body, and then gingerly reached above his head, holding his breath to better tolerate the muscle spasm as his fingers dragged though the dirt. He tapped the floor as he stretched, trying to reach, pausing when he felt a smooth, rounded edge.

_Finally!_

Alex tilted his left shoulder entirely off the floor to give himself that last little bit of leverage to reach a few more centimeters for the arm of what he hoped was his glasses, grinning slightly as he felt along the edge to the side of one of the lenses. He carefully picked them up and slipped them on, grimacing when he became aware of a large crack on the right lenses. He blinked a few times before he realized that there were minute scratches on the both sides, and he sighed, shaking his head— _focus, you need to see more of your surroundings_. Clenching his teeth, he placed both hands flat on the ground, tucked his elbows in, and _pushed_ himself up into a sitting position, leaning forward as he heard and felt a series of small _cricks_ from his spine. Then he glanced to his right, checking the back of the cell as best he could in the dark before turning his body so he faced the front, scooting backwards until he felt the back wall against his own. Then he relaxed, attempting to study what he could of his prison as he allowed the sharp aches in his legs and torso to ease again, along with the fading headache.

An odd combination of earthy, metallic, and water scents invaded his senses as he looked up to see the uneven doorframe, if it could be called that, where the cell bars vanished out of his sight. He could see what looked like a narrow corridor outside, with deep, hollowed impressions in the walls. Attempting to ignore the crawling sensation up his spine, he instead moved forward, bones and joints aching as he turned around to use the wall as a support to pull himself to his feet. Moving slowly, he glanced reflexively to his left, and then checked his right, freezing in place when he spotted a prone figure lying in the fetal position, his back to Alex.

It took Alex a few seconds to recognize the dove-grey fabric in the dim lighting.

“James!” Without thinking, Alex moved to his hands and knees and crawled to James’s still form, squinting as he brushed what grit he could off his hands before resting a hand on the side of James’s face. “James, James, please be okay,” he whispered, voice breaking slightly when he felt cold skin against this own. He started to slip a hand between James’s jaw and shoulder, but stopped when he realized that his hand was shaking too much. Alex closed his eyes— _thirty seconds in, thirty seconds out_ —and bowed his head, gently rubbing James’s shoulder for a few seconds before he looked up again, swallowing back the small ball of fear in his throat. Then he leaned forward to whisper, “James,  _James_ , you’re going to be all right,” as loudly as he dared— _the advantage is mine as long as my captors don’t know I’m awake_. 

Silence; yet, he wasn’t expecting an answer. Alex could vaguely see James’s outline now, and he felt carefully along James’s jawline before locating the softer skin underneath the chin, the short stubble comforting and intimately familiar against his bare palm as he finally located the carotid artery. Pressing two fingers against the pulse, he slowly exhaled to calm his heartbeat down to better focus on James’s own. After a moment, he closed his eyes and counted each beat, hoping that he could at least feel  _something_ enough to properly count and assess…

_It’s there, steady and strong. He’s alive, just unconscious._

“He’s only drugged, you know.”

Alex looked up sharply at the speaker, shifting his position to hide James from view when he saw the semi-familiar man— _Rolan Kaminski, chased Trevelyan into a well and James into the rafters in Moscow before escaping_ —standing close to the bars, bowing slightly so he could peer at Alex. “Amatore forgot that you were still under surveillance, even inside MI6 headquarters. Q-Branch apparently spotted her trying to sneak you out a back door, so double-oh seven and nine greeted her at the exit.” Kaminski glanced at his own arm, where Alex could see a bulky object underneath his sleeve. “I made the error of underestimating double-oh nine.”

“How did _you_ even get inside MI6 headquarters?” Alex asked, tensing as Kaminski took a few steps back from the cell door before looking down the hall.

“I had help,” Kaminski said shortly as Reardon appeared a moment later, without his sniper rifle for once. Alex swallowed down a bubble of panic as he squared his shoulders yet remained crouched, concealing the spike of fear in his heart as he made eye contact with Reardon. “Does he want Winfield now? Bond is still unconscious, so we can expect less resistance if we take him now,” Kaminski murmured as he turned to Reardon, his words echoing oddly in the chamber.

“I actually came down to see if Winfield was still unconscious, the Riddler didn’t want to risk him escaping even though there’s really nowhere to go. Less hassle,” Reardon replied, not bothering to keep his voice down as he leaned against the cell bars as though to get a better look at Alex or James. “But we still can’t be picky, MI6 is already searching for them. Goldman reports that they’ve already located where we planted Bond’s trackers, and two of ours are already undergoing interrogation. That was two hours ago,” he said, finally turning to face Kaminski as well.

 _But Reardon doesn’t know that they’ve already gotten into my computer, and can access the extra trackers on James._ Alex shifted his position and crouched in front of James’s head and chest, balancing himself with a hand on James’s side as Reardon pulled out a small gun and aimed the muzzle directly at Alex. Kaminski, meanwhile, pulled out a clanking ring of keys from underneath his jacket, momentarily distracting Alex and leaving him torn between the two threats. He then shifted his focus to Kaminski, who carefully unlocked the cell door and stooped slightly to creep towards Alex. Ignoring the gun pointed in his direction, Alex shifted again to keep himself between Reardon’s gun and James while never once looking away from Kaminski, who paused when they made eye contact. Alex only looked briefly past Kaminski’s shoulder when he caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye, watching Reardon move to block the open door.

_The Riddler wants me alive. If I move, Reardon will kill James. If I stay, I’ll get hurt, but James will still die._

He turned sharply back to Kaminski when the Russian started to move again, taking a few more steps before pausing when Alex pressed closer to James. He raised his chin to meet Kaminski’s gaze, remaining still to pose less of a threat to Reardon. “I’ll come with you quietly under the condition you do not harm or kill double-oh seven as I leave, and you _both_ will escort me to the Riddler,” he said, glancing between the two men as his hand on James’s bicep tightened slightly.

“We are _not_ going to make any—” Reardon began, but stopped when Kaminski abruptly raised a hand.

“We accept your terms,” he said calmly, ignoring Reardon’s scowl behind him. “Amatore is with the Riddler, so you need not fear her either.” Kaminski tilted his head, and then quietly ordered, “Reardon, go to the end of the corridor. Mr. Winfield and I will join you in a few minutes.” Reardon sharply inhaled and opened his mouth as though to protest, but Kaminski barked, “ _Now!_ ” the sniper flinching at the order before he slunk away, never holstering his gun.

“Thank you,” Alex whispered, watching Kaminski long enough to catch the small half-bow before he turned around to look down at James. “I’ll come back for you, I promise,” he whispered as he leaned down to kiss James’s temple. _And if not in this life, then in the next._ “All right, I’m ready to go,” he murmured, imaging that he felt James’s fingers gently squeeze his own as he tried to ignore the churning sensation in his gut. He put on a smile for Kaminski’s benefit, and then quietly stood up to follow the mercenary out of the cell, using the silhouetted bars as his guide to the door. He ducked underneath the stone overhang, and then glanced back at James’s still form as Kaminski took both his wrists and cuffed them behind him.

“Lead,” Kaminski instructed calmly, nudging Alex with an elbow to the small of his back. Alex tensed when he saw Reardon, who stood at the end of the hall, looking him over once before turning on his heel, his form barely visible in the gloom of the tunnel through Alex’s cracked glasses. Then Kaminski nudged him sharply in the back again, holding his wrists tightly even as he stumbled over a few loose rocks.

Alex gritted his teeth as he looked down to better watch his step, setting his jaw when he felt a spasm in his left shoulder, as Kaminski’s grip remained firm even as Alex stumbled a second time. “You’re—we’re going too fast,” he managed to say as he stabilized himself before the next turn in the hall.

“Good,” Kaminski replied in a curt tone, still looking around when Alex glanced back at him. “In that case, you may want to consider keeping your attention ahead,” he said, right as Alex looked back in time to see Reardon turn right down another hall.

Alex followed Reardon to the right, a mild sense of irritation twisting in his gut as he felt Kaminski reach up with the right hand and twist his shirt collar as though preparing to yank him along. He bit back the urge to ask about their destination, and instead conceded this particular round to the Riddler. _‘Edward Holton’ may have been in on the game, but how likely is it that his wife even knows…would she even know where this place is, to tell her interrogators?_ Alex stubbornly bit back the cry that bubbled up in the back of his throat at another twist, staring straight ahead. _The woman—Amatore—said that the Riddler wanted me, and possibly my cooperation, alive._ He could feel the handcuffs rattling around his wrists despite Kaminski’s grip as he turned to follow Reardon down another tunnel, the darkness making it difficult for Alex to keep track of their progress. His breath started coming out in white puffs, the cold oddly soothing against his joints as they descended a few steps and stopped in front of a door that had a control panel with blinking, green back-lit numbers. Kaminski carefully positioned Alex so that he could not see past Reardon’s body to the control panel.

_Here we go._

Alex shifted his shoulders in an attempt to ease the burning sensation, only stopping when Kaminski squeezed his wrists in warning. Then he heard a faint _beep_ , and the door noiselessly slid open. He started walking as Reardon did, just to deter Kaminski from pushing him forcefully inside. _Reardon. I need to keep track of Reardon…he’ll be the one most likely to kill James_. He reflexively looked back when he heard the door close, but Kaminski jerked his collar to make him look forward again.

As he did, Alex made eye contact with the only seated occupant of the room… _the Riddler_. He felt his stomach drop, limbs freezing as the Riddler finally looked up from his paperwork on the desk. _“Christ,_ ” Alex breathed, remaining in place even as Kaminski finally released him to stand somewhere behind him— _most likely at the door_.

“Good evening Alexander, I hope you were able to get _some_ rest. I’ve already spoken to Amatore about the way she treated you, so hopefully it won’t happen again,” Lucas Stafford said with the familiar, kind intonations Alex had come to trust over the years. Alex stiffened, but remained still when Stafford stood up and took a small object from his desk. “An intact pair of glasses, with the correct prescription,” he explained as he opened the case with a soft _click_ , carefully pulling off the cracked pair and sliding the new ones onto Alex’s face. Alex instinctively pulled away, but Stafford merely smiled, the light not quite reaching his eyes as he turned and walked back to his desk. “Please, sit,” he said, gesturing to the chair in front of his desk.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Stafford, but I’m afraid I will have to decline. I am fine with standing,” Alex said, careful to keep his voice even while Amatore abruptly moved from the shadows to hover behind Stafford.

“Nonsense, I know you’re in pain, I saw you limping in here,” Stafford said dismissively as he went back to his papers. “If it’s any comfort, I have no intention of killing you just yet. Despite the small problems of your amnesia and steadfast loyalty to MI6, there’s no denying that you’re very good at what you do,” Stafford said as Alex gingerly approached him, nudging the chair back with a foot to better sit down. “Reardon says that even while under MI6 surveillance, you still hacked them without warning and managed to escape,” he remarked as Alex gingerly scooted the chair closer to the desk.

“That was more dumb luck than anything else,” Alex said, glancing away to keep Stafford from seeing the twist of hurt in his chest— _losing composure now won’t help either James or me._ Swallowing back the tumultuous guilt, grief and anger, he tilted his head and said, “Am I to assume, then, that if Amatore had failed, you would have poisoned me somehow at lunch?”

 “That is correct. Sedatives for you, laxatives for Trevelyan, just to get him out of the way for a few hours. Or Bond, whomever showed up with you,” Stafford said, absently waving a hand as he studied the documents in front of him. Alex remained silent, quietly pleased that he’d disrupted Stafford’s day enough so that the man had to take his ‘real’ work with him into an otherwise non-existent meeting. “I have to admit, though, that the double-ohs were the hardest part of your extraction,” Stafford remarked after a moment, reclaiming Alex’s attention. “Bond especially, he wouldn’t leave your side at St. Bart’s every night for the first month, making it especially difficult to grab you when you were at your most vulnerable. And if he wasn’t there, then it was Trevelyan or someone else,” he added, shrugging as he started to place documents back into a binder.

 _What?_ Alex nodded as he glanced at Amatore as though to assess her— _appears unarmed, but better safe than sorry_ —but used those five seconds to regain his composure. _James…what did he say at the embassy when I mentioned his lack of presence? That I wouldn’t have remembered him and he didn’t want the Riddler’s attention on me…damn it, James._ “I’m afraid you’ll have to elaborate, I still don’t quite recall much of the first two to three months since I was apparently drifting in and out of consciousness at the time,” he said in an even tone, leaning back in his chair despite the twist of his shoulders, resting his right leg on his left knee.

Reardon twitched, but Stafford shrugged a shoulder. “Unless he was out of the country, Bond remained in St. Bart’s, occasionally checking on you before patrolling the ward. Doctor Redding was unusually tolerant of his presence, which probably _should_ have been my first clue…correct?” Stafford asked, glancing at Amatore, who nodded once. “But when you were asleep, even after coming out of sedation, he would continue to guard. He only stopped after it became clear you would be leaving the hospital soon.”

 _James, why the hell didn’t you defend yourself?_ Alex swallowed back the welling guilt as he looked up at Stafford. “Did you know whom I was, when Paris happened?” he asked instead, raising a brow when Stafford shook his head.

“No. Believe it or not, that trap was for double-oh seven, but since M changed his mind at the last minute, I had to come up with a different plan, which turned out to be killing Bond’s lover in order to aggravate the agent into making a reckless and fatal error. I thought the two of you had split before then, so you could imagine my surprise when Reardon supplied your photograph and identity as Quartermaster,” Stafford said, pushing his sleeve back to examine his watch— _birthday gift from Alana and Robert, the photo on the face was taken when they were five_ —before slipping the binder into the briefcase and snapping it closed. “Well, unfortunately, I have to head back to the States to continue orchestrating this little affair,” he said, smiling apologetically before looking past Alex’s shoulder. “Kaminski, please keep Winfield here until we leave, and then release him after Reardon has shot Bond in the head, the same way my daughter died,” he said, directing the last instruction towards Reardon, who nodded.

“What? _No,_ no, don’t you—” Alex shouted, attempting to stand up only to fall gracelessly back into the chair at the loss of balance. “Don’t fucking kill him, he has no role in whatever quarrel you have with me!” he snapped as Stafford moved around the desk, Amatore at his side. “Why him and not me?” he demanded as Stafford bent over to collect his briefcase.

“Because, Alexander, I want you to feel the same pain of losing a loved one that I felt when first Alana, and then Robert, died. Then I want you to feel the guilt of knowing that it’s your fault that Bond is dead, that you failed to protect him a second time from me and my family,” Stafford said, voice cold yet still calm.

“I was the Quartermaster of MI6 when Alana died, and it was my duty to protect not only Her Majesty’s agents, but also the people, whom Alana was planning to systematically kill if they didn’t agree with her,” Alex growled, stiffening when Stafford ignored him and turned to walk for the door. “Murdering innocent people is not the— _but_ ,” he said, thinking quickly— _there’s still time to stop him_ —and grinned when Stafford paused, still facing Kaminski. “But since I’m no longer an employee of Her Majesty’s Secret Service, I can offer a potential exchange for James’s life without disobeying a mandate,” he said, quirking a brow when Stafford turned with barely disguised interest.

“Oh? And what do you have that I could possibly be interested in?” Stafford asked, frowning as he ignored Reardon’s faint scowl.

“Me.” Alex saw the confusion in Stafford’s eyes, and nodded encouragingly. “Robert was your chief technician, wasn’t he? Now you need a new one, and I’ll take his place, you know I’m one the best you will ever find. I go with you to the States, and we pretend you kidnapped me until Bond arrives to ‘rescue’ me. I’m brought back to MI6, and you have a new set of eyes and ears safely embedded in MI6, with no one the wiser. My betrayal, if and when Bond discovers it, will hurt him more than my death ever would,” he explained steadily, hoping that the grief in his chest didn’t reflect in his eyes.

Reardon cleared his throat then, catching Stafford’s attention. “I can’t believe I’m agreeing with him, but he’s right. His betrayal would affect Bond more than his death,” he said, scowling briefly at Alex before turning to Stafford. “And if he double-crosses you, I can always kill Bond myself,” he added, Stafford nodding in agreement.

“Very well, then.” Stafford turned to Alex. “I accept your terms, Mr. Winfield, but I hope you understand my desire to keep you handcuffed until we get to the jet,” he warned before turning to Kaminski. “Help him up, and then go collect the data I asked about earlier,” he said, stepping back to allow Kaminski through. “Bond can wake up and figure his way out of the catacombs on his own, I don’t want to be around when he does,” he said, gesturing for Amatore to wait beside Reardon despite the flash of reluctance in her eyes. Instead of taking the handcuffs like Alex expected him to, Stafford pushed him forward instead, the bad shoulder flaring in protest. “Walk, and wait for me at the end of the hall. Any mischief, and your life is forfeit as is Bond’s,” he hissed into Alex’s ear.

Alex nodded, keeping his face blank even though the hall was too dark for anyone to read his expression. _Oh God, James, I hope you can forgive me when all is said and done._ Squaring his shoulders, he began to walk forward, holding his head high.

Stafford waited until Alex was almost to the end of the hall before he signaled Kaminski. “Kill Bond now, before he can wake up and cause more problems,” he quietly ordered, and Kaminski inclined his head once. “Relay that to Amatore and Reardon, I expect the three of you to be done before take off in five minutes.”

“Of course, sir.” Kaminski watched in silence as Stafford left and then turned to the other two, noting the impatience in Amatore’s eyes. “He wants us to carry Bond to the rotunda, and wait there until he wakes up before killing him. We are professional assassins, _not_ senseless executioners,” he said quietly, facing Amatore but with his eyes turned to Reardon. “Any objections?”

“No,” Amatore said before Reardon could speak, glancing at him briefly before she gestured that he follow her towards the door. Kaminski fell into step behind them, checking his watch for a brief moment, tsking softly to himself before he shook his sleeve back down to conceal it, and then moved to follow the other two to the cellblocks through the winding tunnels of the old Parisian catacombs.

_Seven more minutes._


	36. Chapter 36

_“I’ll come back for you, I promise.”_

A brush of warmth against his temple, and Bond reflexively squeezed Alex’s thin, cold fingers in a quiet attempt to reassure him before relaxing his fingers against his thigh. Alex pulled away a moment later, placing a hand on Bond’s hip to steady himself as he said, “I’m ready to go,” presumably to Kaminski—Bond didn’t dare open his eyes to check for himself—and then Alex’s warmth disappeared from his back, each uneven footstep twisting Bond’s heart until he heard the _clong_ of the cell door closing, the sound echoing throughout the cavern. _Underground and somewhere old._ A faint _zzt_ echoed from a slight distance— _handcuffs_ —and then Kaminski said, “Lead,” and Bond heard two sets of footsteps walking away, the uneven ones louder than the steady footfalls. He started to move as they faded, but froze when he heard a third set join a few moments later. _Third person, most likely Reardon—he hadn’t truly walked away after all._

Bond waited until he could no longer hear footsteps—either present or echoed—and then opened his eyes, blinking a few times before falling still again. He scanned for a potential threat, still remembering Kaminski’s silent approach to the cell a few minutes after Alex had woken up, and then turned slowly onto his stomach and pushed himself up. He gritted his teeth at the numerous _cricks_ that ran down his spine and elbow as he supported himself for a moment, and then carefully rolled into a crouch despite the ache in his joints. Quietly grateful that he’d given his eyes a chance to adjust to the darkness, while listening for Alex’s movements nearby, Bond scanned what he could of not just his cell, but also the small tunnel just outside the cell doors. _Doors that Kaminski never locked after leaving with Alex; either he forgot or he’s up to something that his employer wouldn’t approve._ He tilted his head, listening for any sounds outside as he replayed the last few minutes in his head.

_No, he didn’t lock the doors again._

Slowly, in case he was about to walk into an ambush, Bond moved a few steps closer to the cell door, rolling his shoulders back to work out a twist in the muscle when he heard a soft scuffling sound. He paused, straining to listen into the silence only to hear a _drip, drip, drip_ somewhere to his right, but nothing else. Then he crept forward the last few paces towards the door, reaching out to hold onto the bars for support when he felt an unexpected spasm in his ribs— _possibly bruised or broken from Amatore’s roundhouse kick back in London—_ and bowed his head, gritting his teeth to regain his sense of equilibrium without the accompanying pain.

He took deep and measured breaths through each spasm. _Amatore has been well trained, I’ll give her that much. I wasn’t expecting the gunfire or the reinforcements at the end, so she had the element of surprise even after getting caught_. Bond ran a tentative hand down the left side of his torso, quietly relieved that Reardon’s bullet had missed him yet again despite the close quarters, had missed Alex despite the other’s limp form.

His breath caught when he suddenly recalled the last time he saw Alex, pale and curved slightly in Amatore’s bridal carry as she came around the corner of the basement stairs, where Bond had been returning from the interrogation of Madeleine Holton. That split second of numb horror as he looked down to see Alex near death again had nearly cost him everything, bringing him back to Paris in that moment. He still remembered when someone handed Alex over to him, one of the field medics. _‘I’m sorry double-oh seven,’_ she’d said moments before gently transferring Alex to his grasp. He remembered panicking— _there’s so much blood_ —and then gingerly kneeling so that he could take Alex’s vitals for himself.

Alex, who had just left to meet the Riddler himself, and Bond had no doubt that he would appear in the negotiations somewhere.

_They’ll do anything for you, won’t they? How many is that now?_

_I can’t let that happen again, not when I just got him back._

Bond leaned against the bars, tilting his head for a better angle as he tried to look down the hall. When he didn’t see anything, he pushed away from the door, using each bar as a support as he gingerly tested each footstep. When he could walk without feeling a spasm in his ribs, he approached the door’s handle and paused, listening for any signs of unwanted activity. Then he covered the door handle with both hands and shifted his grip downwards in a smooth movement.

_Clang!_

“Thank you, Kaminski,” Bond muttered under his breath as he pushed open the door, glancing quickly in both directions and determining that he was at the end of a narrow hall. A single dim lightbulb provided the only source of light on Bond’s end, but he could see a faint yellow pinprick in the depths of the gloom ahead. Pushing the cell door closed again with a hand, he winced at the _screeek_ of the latch as he moved it back into place and then flattened himself against the tunnel wall before creeping forward— _best to stay as hidden as possible until I find the security cameras_ —and using the pinprick as his guide through the tunnel.

He paused at a junction in the halls, swallowing once to ease his own confusion and nerves at the silence, the lack of ‘grunts’—techs, security detail, even custodial staff—painfully present in the empty halls. _Either the Riddler doesn’t have a ‘staff’, to minimize the chances of blowing his own cover, or he didn’t originally plan to come here_. Bond reflexively reached for his Walther, scowling faintly when he found nothing but an empty holster. A final check, and then he darted across the intersection of halls, calmly walking forward even as he tilted an ear to listen. He then shifted to a half crouch, forcing himself to maintain a steady pace as the pinprick of light morphed into incandescent lights embedded in the rock ceiling, running perpendicular to Bond’s hall. Intrigued, Bond remained just in the shadows as he took note of the well-worn path and the numerous metal control panels that ran intermittently throughout the tunnel on both walls.

Bond slipped to the right, straightening his back and walking purposefully through the middle of the hall. _Perhaps understaffed then, the Riddler hadn’t planned to come here._ He glanced casually over his shoulder to check for any followers, but turned sharply back when he heard the echo of new footsteps in front of him.

Bond got a glimpse of the guard’s uniform— _same as the one in Sydney_ —seconds before twisting his left shoulder to the right to avoid the first punch— _his gun is still in the side holster_ —before attempting to drive his right elbow into the man’s ribs. The guard leapt back, stumbling as Bond charged after him, hoping to keep him off-balance. The guard snarled softly before he pivoted back on a heel, slamming into the wall behind him and using it and a few precious seconds to struggle back to his feet. Bond, however, used that moment to reach forward and attempt to snatch the gun from the holster. With a faint, yet audible _squeak_ , the guard curved his body to the right in the same moment Bond’s fingers brushed against the holster, catching and pulling it seconds before his hand made contact with the rock wall.

“ _Shit!”_ Bond swore as the gun clattered to the floor, earning a few squeaks of protest from the guard. Without hesitation, Bond drove his elbow into the man’s solar plexus before slamming first his shoulder, then his body into the guard, causing the man to stumble backwards. Bond then adjusted his stance for a quick kick to the bottom of the man’s ribs, pitching him towards the ground, where he landed with a dull _thud_ as his head connected with the ground. Bond then turned and strode for the dropped gun, which had slid away from the point of impact with the floor. He knelt down and picked it up even as he heard the guard behind him scrabbling against the stone floor. Bond switched the safety off as he heard rapidly retreating footsteps, and then turned around on a heel as he aimed and then pulled the trigger.

_Bang!_

Bond calmly switched the safety back on and headed in the direction the guard had tried to leave in, pausing long enough by the body to pick up the man’s radio, holster, and ID card. He switched the radio on and turned the volume down just enough to hear the radio chatter— _very little, so drastically understaffed_ —without giving his position away to any potential eavesdroppers that he couldn’t see around the corner. Then he slipped the gun back into its holster, feeling only partially comforted with the semi-familiar weight. “ _Damn_ ,” he muttered to himself when he came to another junction, both directions brilliantly lit. He started to turn right, only to retreat when he heard a _squeak_ of a door opening behind him.

“…and be quick about fixing that, Ray will be back soon from patrol!”

“Better hope I don’t rewire the speaker to explode whenever it hears Ray’s voice,” a woman muttered as she stepped out of the room, her white lab coat fluttering around her ankles as she tucked the small object into a pocket. Bond tilted his body just enough at the edge of the turn in time to watch her start to walk away from him, only turning back for a moment to push the door the rest of the way in.

Bond waited until she was almost out of sight before slipping out of his hiding place, matching his footsteps with hers as he approached the door she had just left. He stopped in front of the door, noting the small reader as he first pulled the gun out and then the guard’s ID card. A quick slide through the reader and the red light switched to green, Bond tucking the card back into a pocket before he reached out and pressed down on the door handle, slipping into what appeared to be a small security room. He was momentarily startled to find that not only was the room smaller than he anticipated, but there were also five guards spread across the space in front countless monitors. Two weren’t even paying attention, too engrossed in their newspapers to notice Bond’s entrance, and a third had his feet propped up on his desk with his lunch on his lap while the fourth stared at the monitors, glaze-eyed as the fifth used his shoulder as an impromptu pillow.

A shuffle of movement, and Five jerked awake the moment Bond looked at him, blinking as he stared at Bond.

“Ray—” he began, but Bond fired before he could finish, the bullet catching him in the shoulder and pitching him backwards off of Four. Bond vaguely heard a _thud_ as he turned his attention to the first two guards, dropping to all fours to avoid the first several bullets. He inhaled sharply and braced himself to lash out with a leg, catching the stem of the third guard’s chair and forcing it to fall to the side, depositing the guard straight onto the panel. Bond grunted when he felt the sharp pain of protesting ribs even as he shifted his weight back to fire at the two new assailants and then twisted around briefly to fire at Four, who was scrambling to his feet. He sucked in a breath when a bullet grazed his ribs before another whistled past his ear, firing again at one of the two before pistol-whipping the third guard, who had picked himself up off the panels to sneak up behind Bond. A flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye was his only warning when a sudden weight pressed his front, the guard trying to shove him back until Bond went with the motion, twisting sharply to avoid slamming his head on the ground. With a grunt, Bond shoved the guard aside into the fallen desk chair before twisting quickly around to fire at the last fleeing guard, careful to aim first for a shoulder, and then a thigh. The guard collapsed into the doorframe with a sickening _thunk_ before falling to the ground, unmoving.

 _Finally_.

Bond stood up and stepped over two bodies and the overturned chair, nudging the chair aside with a foot. He leaned forward to better reach the control panel, blue eyes already scanning the numerous displays for Alex, the three lieutenants, or possibly the Riddler himself. _Find one, and they will lead you to the rest._

Movement in one of the screens caught his eye, and he looked up at one of the corner monitors in time to see two familiar figures cross in front of the screen, disappearing a moment later. He glanced down at the panels, searching for some means of communications until he took a step back and scanned the unconscious figures on the ground. He spotted the silver gleam that he’d been looking for sticking out of one man’s pocket, and leaned down to pull the mobile out. He turned the device over in his hand before starting to dial one of Alec Trevelyan’s numerous mobile numbers.

He looked up sharply, already reaching for his gun as he turned to find the woman from earlier, standing absolutely still in the doorway with widening eyes as she surveyed the damage before looking up at him. She flinched when he switched the safety off, but didn’t bolt as he rested his fingers on the trigger and the hammer. “If you want to live, you will quietly leave this facility, return to your old life, and do not break the law again. Do you understand?” he asked quietly, watching as she shifted her attention from the weapon in his hand to his face, flickers of confusion crossing her features. He repeated his warning in French, and she finally nodded once and left, her footsteps disappearing form the hall a moment later. Bond then turned back to the screens, pressing ‘Send’ and raising the mobile to his ear as he located his two allies, mouth twitching when he caught sight of Alec in a lower monitor. The agent flinched, nearly colliding into Tess behind him, and reached into his pocket as Bond picked up the fallen chair and sat, propping his feet up on to the control panel. Alec then pulled his mobile out with a faint scowl.

_“Who the fuck is this?”_

“Nice to hear from you too, Alec,” Bond said dryly, leaning back in his chair as he watched Alec stiffen on the monitor screen. “I’m assuming that you and Tess are here on a rescue mission?” he asked as he tucked the mobile between his ear and shoulder to free his hands, so he could continue to search for Winfield through all the monitors except for the one that had Alec and Tess.

“ _Yes, although I suspect you don’t need it?”_ Alec asked, taking a step back to look around his immediate vicinity. He scowled when he spotted the security camera, and made a rude hand gesture in Bond’s direction as Tess looked up in confusion, which turned into wariness when she spotted the camera in question.

“No, I don’t, but Kaminski and Reardon took Winfield somewhere, presumably to the Riddler and I can’t find any of them. I’m assuming that Amatore is either with the Riddler or on the loose somewhere,” Bond said, momentarily wishing that he’d thought to ask the Frenchwoman from earlier if she knew of the Riddler’s whereabouts.

 _“James, Madeleine told us who the Riddler was after you were taken. M promised her protection in both England and the United States if her information proved correct, which it has so far since we’re talking to you,_ ” Alec said grimly, Bond’s heart sinking at his words. “ _Listen, she claims the Riddler is Ambassador Stafford, who was absent from the embassy when we arrived to arrest him. Madeleine was his PA until he needed a Mrs. Holton in a last ditch attempt to buy more time, and coerced her into the role.”_

“Shit…just _damn!_ And we fucking gave his own data back to him!” Bond nearly shouted, pressing a few more commands as he continued switching screens. “I can’t believe we fell for it—”

“ _Are you somewhere with a computer? Q has a few commands he wants you to use so he can gain remote control and use facial recognition software to find Winfield,”_ Alec said, dropping his voice near the end of his sentence as he glanced down the hall behind him before looking forward again as Tess pressed her back against his.

“I’m in a security station, so I don’t think I’m at the main power center,” Bond warned as he pulled himself closer to the control panel to what appeared to be the only keyboard present. “Ready when you are,” he said, waking the new screen up and typing in a few commands to access the computer’s programming system.

Even though Alec spoke softly, Bond still caught every letter and number, typing in each command and following Q’s prompts. At one point, Alec paused when Tess moved her position to crouch in front of him, settling her rifle across a knee. At the final set of instructions, Bond typed the last few several characters before pressing the ‘Return’ key and then leaning back as the numbers began to rapidly change. Several messages warning of an external hacker appeared briefly before someone—most likely Q—clicked ‘Ignore’ and the numbers reappeared on the screen. Bond remained on the phone with Alec even as the security monitors began to change as well, flicking through hundreds of feeds.

Then the first one fell still.

“It’s Reardon, coming my way,” Bond said, standing up as he saw the sniper pause by a familiar body in a familiar well-lit hall. “Amatore is currently running…to where, I don’t know,” he said, tilting his head as the second monitor settled on a feed of Amatore, flickering as she kept moving between cameras. “And Kaminski is standing by my old cell, checking his watch…he’s not in a hurry to go anywhere right now,” Bond remarked, raising a brow. “But that still doesn’t answer where Winfield—”

_Beep!_

He looked up to see that a fourth monitor had settled on a feed, the rest of the screens going abruptly dark to highlight the four active feeds. Bond felt his heart claw into his throat when he recognized Winfield walking somewhere outside, hands in front of him as a calm Stafford walked directly behind him, the older man wrapped in a thick coat. A man just behind Stafford wore an unmarked uniform, but Bond saw and recognized the helmet and headset tucked underneath the man’s arm. “Alec, they’re outside, Stafford is going to put Winfield on an aircraft,” he said, starting to stand up even as he managed to catch the first flickers of  _fear_  on Winfield’s face. _We’ll lose him for good if they leave._

 _“All right, meet you there._ ”

Bond cut the connection and tossed the mobile onto the desk, twisting the chair around to leave the security room. He paused long enough on his way out to grab a few firearms that he could spot and carry. Shouldering the door open, he stepped out into the hall to find that someone had manipulated the ceiling lights into an illuminated path to Bond’s right, past the now familiar T-junction and out of sight. _Thank you, Q._

Bond began to quietly walk down the hall, once again keeping to the right. He paused when he spotted a shadow against the wall that faced the turn in the junction, the figure crouched and still with a small object protruding to the side near the face— _a gun._

Bond flattened himself against the wall, crouching as well before he crept forward and pulled one of the borrowed guns out and flicking the safety switch off. He didn’t particularly care about the _click_ echoing in the hall; Reardon had to know he was already there. _He may be a sniper, but he’d be an idiot to not learn close-quarters combat skills, but will still be relatively weak in that area especially because of his injuries. Guns are nearly useless in close quarters, but he may still try._ Bond crouched there for a moment, assessing his options. He still had the element of surprise, since his shadow hadn’t reached the junction wall yet, so Reardon wouldn’t have anything more than a second to see Bond’s shadow before Bond himself appeared around the corner.

_Disarm him first, and then kill him._

Bond took a deep breath to steady himself, and then moved for the junction.

A second before he made it to the corner, all of the ceiling lights abruptly switched off, plunging the two men into utter darkness.


	37. Chapter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains detailed violence, including physical violence in both parts. For the first part, skip to the first ‘Bang!’ to avoid it if you wish. For the second half, skip to the phrase '“Shall we?” he asked after a moment,' to avoid that particular fight in the second half.

When he saw the small passenger jet, Alex tried, but failed, to suppress a shudder.

“Are you sure that this plane can reach the States, or are we actually going to fly to another airport for another one?” he asked over his shoulder, his words coming out in white puffs of breath as Stafford kept pace behind him. “Double-oh seven might suspect the latter, but I don’t know if you can attempt the former,” he added, turning slightly at a flicker of movement behind Stafford, swallowing back a twinge of nausea when he saw Stafford pause in his steps long enough to signal an uniformed man who carried something under his arm. Alex caught Stafford’s eye then, and the other man signaled for him to turn back around and keep walking. “Problem?” he asked as he obeyed, inhaling sharply when he abruptly realized that none of the three lieutenants were in sight.

“None at all, just making sure that the lieutenants are following the closing procedures for the facility and that we have both of our pilots here,” Stafford replied pleasantly, his footsteps echoing oddly behind Alex. “We’ll be making the jump straight to the States, I’ll tell you exactly where once we’re in the air,” he said, Alex’s jaw flexing as he tried to focus on the cold seeping through his clothes instead of the impending flight. “Hopefully Amatore will arrive soon, Reardon will remain in Paris to select Lefèvre’s replacement and Kaminski will join us in the States, and MI6 will need a trail in order to start following you,” he said, falling into step alongside Alex.

“Very well.” _So far, so good._ Alex looked straight ahead again before a heavy hand fell onto his shoulder, forcing him to stop and turn to Stafford in confusion. “What is it now?” he asked, brows knitting together in suspicion as he saw the soft smile flitting across Stafford’s features.

“It can’t be obvious that you came willingly, we both know that MI6 will be reviewing the security tapes here to see where we went,” Stafford said, shrugging a shoulder as Alex narrowed his eyes, shoulders tensing a moment later. “I do, however, have a final question before we continue with our little…show, so to speak,” he said, releasing Alex’s shoulder when Alex yanked himself free.

“You can’t change the conditions of the agreement,” Alex said, glancing briefly over Stafford’s shoulder to locate the nearest door. _Although, if the lieutenants are still missing with no one to keep them in check…_

“Oh, I wasn’t going to do that, I’m not a full politician quite yet,” Stafford said, starting to reach for Alex again only to stop when Alex took a step away from him. “I was actually going to ask, before we got started, if you would like some medication for the flight to the States,” he said, turning his empty palms towards Alex with a soft smile that sent a chill up Alex’s spine.

“No, I don’t trust you to follow through on your end of the bargain, so I want to be conscious to watch or at least audio confirmation that James is still alive and is on his way back to London,” Alex said firmly, resolutely keeping his eyes on Stafford, who shrugged with one shoulder. He remained calm and still even as he saw something— _anger? Fear?_ —flicker across Stafford’s eyes before the ambassador nodded, gesturing for Alex to keep walking towards the jet.

“Very well, you can keep watching him once we get on the jet. I have a security monitor that connects to the closed circuit system within the bunker, you can watch him as we prepare for takeoff,” Stafford replied with a thin smile, moving to stand in front of Alex. “Anything else, Mr. Winfield, before we begin our little charade?” he asked, raising a brow when Alex squared his shoulders, but shook his head.

“No, that will be all,” he said before taking a step back and turned back towards the jet.

_Smack!_

White shock jolted Alex as his head snapped to the side, cheek stinging as the unexpectedly sharp pivot threw him off-balance and his world tilted seconds before pain shot through his head when it connected with the tarmac. He faintly heard a _crack_ echo across the tarmac platform, faintly gasping as an unkind hand gripped a handful of his dark hair and twisted his head so that he was staring up at the gray skies through askew glasses, Stafford’s face filling his vision a moment later. “As I mentioned earlier, in order for _your_ plan of deception to work, it can’t look like you willingly came with me,” Stafford said quietly, offering a gentle smile that filled Alex with an unexpected rage, costing him a few precious seconds as he attempted to bring it back under control.

He closed his eyes, breathing slowly in and out through his nose, and then opened his eyes again as he smiled with clenched teeth. “Of course, always mindful of details until the end,” he said before allowing himself to fall limp and curl into the fetal position. He gritted his teeth, eyelids fluttered as he breathed through the new wave of pain and nausea. _Come on James, be your usual, stubborn self and get your stupid arse before Stafford changes his mind and kills you anyway…if he’s not already going to do it._ He grimaced when he felt a guard’s hands tightly grip his shoulder and hair, fingers digging into his skin as the guard rolled him onto his stomach before pulling him back onto his feet. _Don’t strike back, not yet, not yet—_ Alex inhaled sharply when the guard forced him to turn around and follow Stafford, each movement jostling Alex’s still-cuffed hands.

_Bang!_

_“Fuck!_ ” Alex swore when he felt the guard jerk behind him, his head swimming as he tried to quickly step away from the falling body yet maintain his balance at the same time. He stumbled as he turned to face the gunman, his heart lifting when he recognized the figure stepping onto the tarmac from a side-access door “Double-oh six! Behind me!” he shouted, catching Trevelyan’s attention right as the Double-O fired at two more guards scrambling to pull their own weapons out. The agent winked once before aiming straight at Alex and pulling the trigger before Alex had a chance to sharply inhale with fear; the bullet whistled harmlessly past his left ear, a faintly audible whine that caused him to involuntarily flinch away even as he heard Stafford swear behind him, followed closely with a metallic _ping!_ _The plane._

He reflexively reached for the dead guard’s rifle with his right hand, but his handcuffs clinked, jerking his wrists as he tried to forcibly pull his hands apart a second later. “Shit, shit, _shit,_ ” he muttered, moving into a crouch before using a foot to shove the guard aside in search of a smaller firearm, namely something he could use comfortably with two hands.

“Winfield! _Get the fuck out of here!_ ” Trevelyan shouted just as Alex found a pistol tucked in the guard’s belt. He didn’t reply, just knelt, snatched the gun, and then backpedaled as he tried to keep a hold on the pistol handgrip, taking refuge behind the passenger jet fuselage. Switching the safety off, he glanced around his side of the tarmac, momentarily unnerved to find it devoid of human life.

_Ping! Ping! Ping!_

“Fucking _snipers_ ,” he muttered, barely seeing the sparks out of the corner of his eye as he retreated towards the front wheels, pressing his back against the landing gear as he knelt down on a knee, attempting to stabilize himself as he sought out the snipers. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with a shoulder before spotting a sniper through the bright flash of a fired rifle; Alex jerked to the left and ducked when the bullet ricocheted off the metal supports. Heart thudding in his chest, he impulsively aimed at the first sniper— _the one who just fired that last one_ —and pulled the trigger.

He didn’t stop to watch or dwell on his own actions, sliding into an oddly familiar calm as he tried to pick off the three snipers even as the pistol started to slide through his sweat-slicked palms. _There are at least two double-ohs here, both facing imminent death while one remains unable defend himself. I can’t let either of them die, my successor is already in charge._ Gritting his teeth, he turned his attention to the final sniper and adjusted his grip on the pistol before raising it again and pressing the trigger.

_Click. Click. Click._

Cold terror flooded Alex’s heart in that moment.

_Bang!_

A figure fell from the balcony above, disappearing behind a row of dumpsters with a loud _crunch_ that twisted Alex’s stomach and he swallowed back the bile in the back of his throat. He looked down near the jet’s tail fins to find Trevelyan rising from a crouch as he lowered his rifle. Swallowing again, Alex gingerly dropped the empty pistol, freezing in place when Trevelyan looked up at the faint clatter of metal against the tarmac. “Winfield! Are you all right?” the agent asked, walking over as his eyes darted over Alex’s form.

“I—I think I might need a hand,” Alex finally replied, holding up the handcuffs for emphasis. Trevelyan nodded, his face set in a grim expression as he re-slung the rifle against his back before pulling out his Walther. Alex took a step back, but remained still as Trevelyan gently pulled the chain to extend his arms and then turned the Walther barrel down and pressed against the chain. “Trevelyan, it’s Staff—the Riddler, it’s him, Stafford is the Riddler, he’s going to kill James, he wants—” Alex began.

_Bang!_

“Revenge? James out of the way so Stafford can receive funding from Ramirez? We know, Madeleine told us everything she could remember, and then Kaminski called Q-Branch almost two hours after your capture, using the mobile he took from James,” Trevelyan said, switching the Walther’s safety back on as the broken chain dangled harmlessly between the cuffs. “I need more time to work on the cuffs, we need to get out of here,” he said, re-holstering the Walther before checking around the tarmac, his hand resting on Alex’s shoulder. “Back the way we came, then.”

Alex shook his head. “But James—”

_Bang!_

Alex’s world sharply tilted again as Trevelyan shoved him backwards, and he twisted around in time to see Trevelyan pull out the Walther again to fire right as a shadow emerged from a stack of crates and ran across the tarmac, almost moving immediately out of Trevelyan’s range. Alex’s heart leapt into his throat when the shadow morphed into Stafford seconds before he disappeared through an emergency access door that Alex’ hadn’t noticed earlier. _We may never get a second chance._ “Double-oh six, go find James and get him to safety, “ he said, scrambling to his feet as he tried to forget his protesting muscles.

“But—wait—”

“That’s an _order_ , double-oh six!” Alex snapped, turning briefly to face Trevelyan and emphasize his words with a sharp gesture towards the other door. “ _Go!”_

Trevelyan hesitated, but Alex turned and left in that moment, ducking underneath the jet and headed towards the emergency access door, which was thankfully unlocked. After closing the door behind him, sealing himself into a poorly lit, grungy hallway, he waited a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, smiling to himself when he spotted a few crates stacked along the side. He went around the stack, and threw himself against the tallest stack of three crates, grunting at the unexpected weight. Gritting his teeth, he pushed against the crates, shoving them in front of the door. Then, satisfied that Trevelyan would have no choice but to obey him, he turned to leave, nearly jumping when the door suddenly jolted against the crates.

 _I gave you orders, double-oh six. Now go follow them_.

With a final glance at the door, Alex turned back around and ran after Stafford.

* * *

Bond slammed his weight into Reardon’s a split second after the lights went out.

He grunted when he felt the edge of an elbow in his ribs—Reardon evidently had expected an attack and been guarding his exposed flank—but then Bond drove a swift uppercut to his estimation of the solar plexus, his fingers connecting with a solid fabric a second later. “ _Fuck!_ ” Reardon swore, breath wheezing slightly as he fell back from what Bond suspected to be a twisted crouch, metal clattering to the floor a moment later. Bond aimed a blind kick in the general direction of the noise in an attempt to move the weapon as far as possible before he inadvertently looked down, something shifting in the dark before his vision went unexpectedly white when something fast and solid cemented with his nose.

_Reardon. He’s lying on his back._

Bond fell to the ground, rolling onto his back before he reached up and pushed his nose back, hearing a faint _crunch_ as he scuffled away from Reardon’s legs. More shuffling noises, and then he grunted when something abruptly clamped down on his wrist, a faint growl audible as Reardon shifted position to avoid a knee to the groin as he kept Bond’s wrist pinned. Clamping down on a brief instinctual panic, Bond slowly exhaled and then jerked his body, nearly upsetting Reardon’s balance. He tried to kick to the side, but only caught what he suspected to be Reardon’s ankle. _All right, where are you, you bastard—_

In that split moment, the lights flicked back on again.

Bond blinked in momentary surprise, but immediately curled onto his side towards Reardon and shoved the other man away with a hand to the ribs. Reardon crashed into the wall, but was already reaching for his Walther as Bond stood up and kicked the dropped knife farther away from the two of them.

_Bang! Bang!_

“Shit,” Bond muttered as he ducked first to the left, and then the right to avoid the first two bullets as Reardon used those few precious seconds to scramble to his feet and turn around to face Bond and block Bond’s access to the junction in the three halls. _And possibly the exit. A Walther PPK holds seven bullets before reloading or switching guns becomes necessary. He has five left, but will be more careful now. He relies on distance as a sniper. I just have to stay alive for five more bullets_. A quick twist of his upper body, and Bond easily dodged the third bullet before taking two steps forward into Reardon’s personal space, the other man already shifting his body away from Bond.

“Fucking—I really should have killed you all…when I had…the chance,” Reardon growled as he took two steps back just out of Bond’s reach to re-holster the Walther seconds before Bond attempted to strike at his exposed lower ribs with a punch. Bond changed the tilt of his hand at the last moment, catching Reardon’s downward block with his forearm. “Maybe once you’re dead, I’ll kill Winfield next—” he began, his words disappearing as Bond attempted a kick to his sternum, which he blocked before pulling out a second knife from a hidden sheath on his leg.

_Over my dead body you will get to him._

Bond followed Reardon while the other flipped the knife in his hand, jerking back to avoid the horizontal slash to the face before he abruptly raised his left arm to block Reardon’s downward stab. He gritted his teeth when he felt a dull echo of pain travel up his arm to his shoulder from the point of impact, shifting into a crouch to lessen the shock. Then he forced himself to stand up again, nose still throbbing as he kept his arm in place to keep Reardon in check. Reardon shifted his weight, and Bond immediately lowered his other arm to block a desperate kick from Reardon, a blow that Reardon immediately followed with his body and crashed into Bond. The sudden weight caught Bond off-guard and he fell backwards to the floor, twisting his body at the last minute to avoid smacking the back of his head against the stone floor. His left forearm still burned in time with his nose, flaring up when Bond used the arm to break his fall. Panting now, he started to push himself up again when a heavy boot came down onto his back between his shoulder blades, shoving back down to the floor. Stars briefly exploded in his field of vision when his nose and forehead made a solid _clunk_ when he made contact with the stone.

“At least this way, I can carry out my orders and you are spared from the humiliation of retirement,” Reardon said above him, voice faint under the muted roar of anger and _panic_ in Bond’s ears. Even as he heard the familiar _click_ of the safety switching off, Bond summoned his last memory of Alex Winfield as he placed both palms on the ground in preparation to throw Reardon off of his back. He glanced up in that blind second and spotted the knife that he’d tried to kick away earlier; with his last burst of adrenaline, he pulled himself forward towards the knife, fingers closing around the handle as he forced his body into a roll that unbalanced Reardon enough for the weight to suddenly vanish. Then Bond threw it upwards towards Reardon as fast as he could, hoping to at _least_ knock Reardon’s aim off course so that he could buy a little more time to muster another rally—

_Bang!_

Reardon jerked violently, wobbling on his own feet before he finally collapsed, the Walther falling from his lifeless fingers as his head collided against the wall with a hollow _thud_. Bond pushed himself away from the corpse before it hit the ground, wincing as he finally saw the knife embedded between the man’s shocked eyes. He started to stand up, but paused, heart pounding and muscles tensed as he registered the third person in the hallway with him. He started to reach for the knife again, but stopped when he glanced up to see Tess standing there with her Walther still drawn. She seemed calm, but Bond remained careful and slow as he withdrew and stood up again, quietly noting the lack of reaction on her features as he took a cautious step towards her.

“Shall we?” he asked after a moment, remaining still even as she finally looked away from the body and at him.

“Yes, we shall,” she replied, glancing at the corpse one final time before reaching for a pouch on her belt. “Lost my earpiece on the way in,” she explained, pulling out Alec’s battered mobile. She gestured for Bond to follow her back towards the junction, pausing for a moment before taking the left turn and taking Bond past the small security center. “Q is going through the computer systems right now, he’s not only going to keep tabs on the surviving lieutenants, but also wipe the system clean. Believe it or not, there are still arguments between M and the higher-ups about whether the Riddler should be killed or captured alive to stand trial for his crimes against the United Kingdom and her allies,” Tess explained as she took a right, fingers tapping the mobile number keys before holding it to her ear.

“I say we just kill him. Removes the risk of the charges being cleared due to ‘insufficient evidence for conviction’,” Bond said, glancing at Tess to see if she had an extra gun or even a knife. “Where’s Alec?” he asked, glancing behind them for any sign of the other agent.

“I’m guessing that he went after Winfield, he may still be out there,” Tess whispered before she stopped at another four-way junction in the halls. “Q, two things,” she said, startling Bond until he saw that she was speaking into the mobile. “One, I need a path to the nearest bunker exit that empties out into the city, and two, I need to know where double-oh six is…oh, I see, okay, I’ll warn him. Now about my questions…oh…can you track Winfield, then? Help double-oh six…thank you,” she said, her facial expressions remaining neutral despite the varying nuances that Bond could hear in her voice. “Goodbye,” she said, sighing before she removed the mobile from her ear and pressed the ‘END’ button.

“Where is Winfield, and what did he want you to warn me about?” Bond asked, raising a brow when she scowled at him. He only barely noticed that the lights above him had started to flicker yet again.

“Winfield and Trevelyan got separated, and we don’t have a tracker on Winfield,” she said bluntly, stuffing the mobile back into its pouch. “So he’s an unknown, and then Q said that he’s discovered that all of the Riddler’s computers are locked behind several firewalls with an unknown number of passwords, all requiring the answer to a riddle,” she said, Bond’s stomach turning to ice at her words. “So, if the Riddler is setting up his space like he did under the Eiffel Tower…” she began as she flattened herself against the wall as the flickering increased in frequency.

“Then it’s likely he has explosives in the place, an unknown quantity in an unknown location,” Bond finished, flattening against the wall as well. His heart constricted when he suddenly recalled standing in Q-Branch all those months ago, when the link connecting him to Alex had disappeared and he had waited for several quiet and agonizing moments as R tried to re-secure the connection only to hear a gunshot. “We can’t leave without either of them,” he said, looking up at Tess as the lights switched to a steady pulse again, this time illuminating a path to the right.

“I know, but only Winfield doesn’t have a tracker, which makes it difficult to find him. Trevelyan is trying,” Tess said, gesturing sharply for Bond to follow her. “We’re supposed to get out as soon as we can in case there are explosives that the Riddler will try to activate to bury all of us with the evidence,” she insisted, taking another step towards the right, following the indicated path. “James!”

“I’m sorry, but I’m not leaving him behind. We’re _all_ getting out of here,” Bond snapped, turning away a moment later and started walking back the way they had come, down into the darkened hall.

_Bang!_

Bond half-ducked as he turned on a heel, blue eyes immediately seeking Tess out. The former Double-O was crouching slightly, hand clasped to her hip as she slowly turned around to face someone that Bond couldn’t see. “What the hell was _that_ for? We didn’t even have a quarrel with each other,” Tess said, slowly turning around to face her opponent as she took a side step towards Bond. Her eyes remained firmly fixed on the newcomer even as Bond saw her reach behind her back for the sheathed knife she’d kept there for several months now.

“We do now,” a soft, Italian-accented voice replied, the words sending a jolt down Bond’s spine.


	38. Chapter 38

With practiced ease, Bond stepped forward as Tess turned her back to him, and reached out a moment later to catch her when she stumbled backwards after putting weight on her bad hip. He knelt to catch her shoulders and reached with one hand to free the knife of its sheath, pressing the handle against her waiting palm. Then he grasped her waist and turned the two of them around in time to sidestep the next bullet intended for Tess, gritting his teeth when he felt hot metal sear across his dirty jacket sleeve. He took a split second to double-check that Tess was steady on her own two feet before turning to block Tess from Amatore’s view, looking up at the Italian in time to see her eyes widen before she tried to retreat into the gloom of her hall. Bond only caught a flicker of movement as she re-holstered her weapon a moment before he charged toward her without thinking.  _I can’t waste time here._

_Click!_

This time, when all the lights switched on, Bond didn’t hesitate in his attack. He redirected his approach in an attempt to knock the gun away, his fingers clipping the side of the holster and wrapping around Amatore’s ribs as she tried to twist away from him. A burst of adrenaline surged through his veins as he managed to push her away, only to twist in time to see her turn on a heel with the momentum of the push and catch herself before she could crash into the wall. She let out a gasp and raised her hands as though to stop him when he charged her again, this time colliding into her and sending the two of them into the wall. There was a _thud_ , and for a moment, he thought she had been knocked out until he felt a muzzle jam into his lower gut, forcing him to push her away to avoid the first few bullets. He retreated so he could duck into the junction with Tess, and immediately left the junction the moment the bullets stopped and the footfalls started.

She was fast; he gave her credit for that.

Amatore remained in the main hall until she took a sharp left, Bond not wasting a beat when he rounded the corner after her, trying to ignore the pulsing in his nose.

“James!”

He ignored Tess’s cry as he lunged forward, catching Amatore’s ankles with an outstretched hand. The two of them landed with a loud _thud_ on the ground, but he managed to look up in time to see Amatore’s eyes, narrow blue slits underneath a few loose strands of brunette hair before she curled forward in an attempt to drive her knees into Bond’s groin. He grunted as he tried to flip her on to her side, but then reared back when her booted heel nearly caught him in the nose. Then Bond nearly crushed her, trying to keep her still by snaking forward to hold her body down even as he saw, out of the corner of his eye, one of her hands slipping underneath the jacket. He reached forward and estimated her wrist before reaching blindly and catching the handgrip of her pistol instead. _Fuck._

He looked to her other side in time to see her pulling the knife out with the other hand, and then reached forward to pin that hand down, nearly falling over when she thrashed underneath him and the knife clattered harmlessly to the ground. Bond rested his weight where he pinned her wrists, taking a few moments to pull the other wrist out and pin it to the ground. “Tess!” he shouted over his shoulder, ducking a moment later when Amatore’s head snapped backwards. He grunted when Amatore shifted again, this time throwing her weight to the left and nearly throwing him off from the surprise.

Then he felt sharp teeth sink into his wrist.

 _“Shit!”_ he spat, rearing back in surprise and fell when Amatore finally threw him off, blood splattering when she backhanded him across the nose. Ignoring the pain as best he could, he pulled himself to his feet and took off after her even as she charged towards Tess, who limped back and out of the woman’s way. Bond felt a hot curl of anger when Tess abruptly flattened against the wall and to her right, giving Amatore the chance she needed to turn down one of the tunnels towards the door. “ _Damn it, Tess_ , _why didn’t you stop her?_ ” he bellowed even as he faintly remembered that Tess had a fresh bullet injury.

“Didn’t want to rob Alec of the fun,” she replied breezily just as the two of them heard a _thunk_ and the sound of something heavy making contact with the ground.

Bond turned the corner to find Amatore lying still on the ground, Alec leaning against the wall with a bemused expression on his face. “Thought she was armed, so I tried to frisk her right as I caught her around the middle,” he said after a moment, glancing at Bond as he lowered his arms against his side. Bond knelt and felt along Amatore’s jaw, relaxing slightly when he felt the pulse steady and strong. “We struggled a bit, and we both lost our balances.”

“It wasn’t a very graceful moment for either of them,” Tess said, limping closer to them as Bond straightened to his full height again. “Where’s Winfield?” she asked, anxiety audible in her voice. Bond glanced up at Alec as he used a torn sleeve to stop the sluggish bleeding from his nose, pinching the cartilage and straightening it again with a faint _crack_.

“I thought I asked you to go after Winfield,” Bond said, jaw tightening when he glanced behind Alec to find only an empty hall. Quiet worry began to build in the bottom of his stomach, but he forced it down as he turned his attention back to Alec.

“And I did. Then he told me to go after _you_ before going after Stafford himself, locking me out from the door he used. I’ve been following the trail of locked doors ever since,” Alec said grimly, glancing between the two of them. “Speaking of which, Stafford is still out there, he needs to be either captured or killed before he can escape and use the American systems to make it more difficult for us to reach him.” HE looked down at Amatore, and then said, “She’ll tell us what we need to know, and we can take her out of the game for now by bringing her back to London,” he said, pulling a zip tie out of one of his numerous pouches.

_Bzzzz. Bzzzz._

“That’s me,” Tess said suddenly, twisting around for a moment before she located Alec’s mobile. “It’s Q, one moment,” she said before swiping across the screen to take the call.

“One of us will have to watch Amatore while the other two search for Winfield,” Bond said, blinking against the sudden wave of dizziness that washed over him at the same moment he looked up from Amatore to Alec. The dull throbbing in his nose became more prominent as bone-deep exhaustion began to creep up his limbs.

“Yeah…and it shouldn’t be you, given that you’re ready to fall over and she might use that against you,” Alec said, raising a brow. Shaking his head when Bond opened his mouth to protest, Alec said, “No, James, listen to me. You can barely stand—”

“We have to leave here immediately.”

“What?” Bond asked, turning sharply around to face Tess only to stumble a moment later as his world tilted slightly. “Why do we have to leave here immediately?” he demanded as Tess pressed a button on the mobile and looked up at the two men.

“Alex was tricked into starting the countdown timer, something about the answer to a question being the wrong password. We now have four minutes to get the hell out of here and vacate the blast zone; he’ll be able to let us know when we’re clear. Q is in touch with him now, he’s at the command center,” she said quietly as Alec bent down and scooped the unconscious Amatore into a bridal carry.

 _Five minutes_. “Give me the mobile, I can find him in four minutes,” Bond said calmly, extending a hand to Tess. _Or I can die trying._

She opened her mouth as though to argue, but changed her mined at the last minute, wordlessly handing him the mobile. “Budget two,” she warned as Bond turned back down the hall, planning to go back to the small security center he’d started at to just locate the command center.

Bond didn’t answer.

* * *

 

_Where the fuck did he go?_

For a moment, Alex stood in the hall, momentarily undecided whether to turn left or right when he heard the faint _clong_ of someone forcing a door open. _Either Trevelyan or Stafford, not much time either way._ With a final glance over his shoulder, he turned right, scanning the well worn stone floor for any scuff marks or other signs of travel in the corridor. He paused when he heard footsteps echoing off the walls, heart hammering in his chest when he realized that the steps were coming towards him. Shadows danced on the stone walls just around the bend up ahead, and he crouched in the nearest patch of shadows and prepared to spring out as the individual drew closer; there was nowhere to hide and it was too late to run—

He moved right as the figure came around the bend.

“Ack!” Alex saw a flash of silver, and managed to arrest his own movement right as Kaminski caught his wrist with a free hand, the fingers jamming the cuff into Alex’s skin. “Fuck!” he blurted out as pain shot from his wrist and up into his forearm. Instead of crying out further, Alex gritted his teeth and tried to yank his arm free.

To his quiet surprise, Kaminski released him before turning to face him. “Are you going after Stafford?” he asked, the knife disappearing into the folds of his jacket.

“Are you going to stop me?” Alex asked, silently recalling Trevelyan’s words about Kaminski’s murky loyalties. “Because even if Stafford is paying you—”

“Oh, there’s no doubt about that,” Kaminski interrupted, shrugging with a shoulder as he took a step back. “It just so happens that Ramirez paid me more to keep an eye on a business rival,” he said, twisting slightly to reach for something in his jacket, pulling out a sheathed knife a moment later. Without a word, he tossed it in the air and caught the blade, offering Alex the handle. “Double set of doors at the end of the hall, I would suggest taking care of him before he gets his hands on the detonation sequence. If he decides he won’t be able to win, he’ll try to take out as many people as he can, including civilians,” he warned as Alex gingerly took the handle from him.

“Good luck…and thank you,” Alex said finally, inclining his head towards Kaminski as he tucked the knife away into his belt.

“Godspeed,” Kaminski replied quietly before turning and disappearing around the corner on his way.

Alex took a few steadying breaths before turning to continue walking around the turn to the final corridor. He felt oddly calm as he spotted the doors in question, two indents into the stone that marked the dead end in the tunnel. He swallowed back a wave of nausea when he realized that the corridor looked oddly familiar, teasing the edges of his memory as he walked the last few steps. _Stafford will fight to the end, then, there’s no way out for either of us, but this is definitely it._

He took a steadying breath when he reached the doors, and then pushed them forward, grimacing at the slight _creak_ before he immediately glanced around the seemingly empty command center, brows knitting together for a moment as he felt a tug in his mind— _I’ve definitely been here before, but when?_ —until his gaze settled on the solitary figure hunched over one of the panels, face tilted up towards a nearby screen. Alex started to step back when the other man suddenly looked up and turned around, a pistol aimed straight at Alex as familiar dark eyes caught his own. Stafford arched a brow, but didn’t move when Alex shifted his own stance to better shield the door.

Stafford finally shrugged a shoulder. “Oh, it’s just you,” he said, turning back to the control panels in front of him, setting the gun down within reach. “For a moment, I thought you were one of the double-oh agents. Amatore mentioned that there were three running around, your lover included,” he said, Alex’s heart leaping slightly at the mention of James’s apparent well health. _Does he not think I will try to kill him myself?_ Unaware of Alex’s thoughts, or the knife tucked to his belt, Stafford finally turned back around to Alex again. “I never truly appreciated how difficult it would be to kill one of them until I was forced to,” he said, making a face at Alex before turning to the screens. Interest piqued, Alex glanced up at the large computer screen above the ambassador, the black text standing clearly out against the light blue field.

_What belongs to you, but is used by others?_

In the space of a heartbeat, Alex _remembers_.

Somehow, he knew that if he turned around to the empty floor behind Stafford, he could picture the two corpses that were there last time, the scattered, abandoned equipment long since cleared away with the other debris from when 001 and 002 had cleared out the command center for his use. He suddenly recalled the last turn he’d taken before running into Kaminski, wondering if he had gone left instead of right, would he have found the tunnel leading to the Eiffel Tower and where William Fairbanks drew his last breath? Feeling suddenly clammy, Alex pressed his lips together to quell the rising bile as he looked up and met Stafford’s steady gaze. “I see that you’ve cleaned up quite a bit since I was last here,” he remarked, sparing only a casual glance around the room. “Even got a new computer drive.”

He felt a twist of satisfaction when Stafford twitched. “I had seven months to prepare,” Stafford said, offering a thin smile as he inclined his head towards the screen. “Seven months to recover, to pull my operation back together. All I needed was my data, so thank you, for returning that to me. Now, once I’ve taken care of you and the agents, I’ll go back to _my_ work, which you’ve unhelpfully set me back on,” he said, pressing a few buttons before slamming a fist down on the panel. Alex barely suppressed the urge to jump, but stepped back when Stafford turned towards him. “Damned MI6 techs locked the goddamned thing,” he snapped, poking at a few buttons before raising his hands into the air with frustration. He took a step back before Alex could speak, picking up the gun as he moved, the _click_ of the safety switch echoing around the room.

“Wait. I can’t bring Alana back, no one can, but as I told her then, MI6 has a duty to protect England from those who wish to harm the country. If you put the gun down, we can try to negotiate for—” Alex began, attempting one final reach for diplomacy.  

“I don’t negotiate. I just eliminate the causes of the problem,” Stafford merely countered before he raised the gun and opened fire.

Alex ducked behind a chair without thinking, feeling a twist of déjà vu in his stomach as he reached for the knife. His palm felt sweaty, and he felt a sense of desperation as he adjusted his position— _I can’t leave James again like that._ Remembering Kaminski’s words, Alex gripped the knife and tried to crawl out of the opposite side of the desk chair, only to duck back when Stafford fired in that same direction, chair stuffing fluttering to the ground around him.

Then: _click, click_.

“Shit!” Stafford swore as Alex darted out from behind the chair at the sound of the empty gun, already turning his body to have a better position to throw the knife. Stafford promptly dropped the gun and ran for the door right as Alex felt his fingers and arm slide into the familiar motions of throwing the knife. At the last moment, Stafford turned right, stepping into the knife’s path to reach for something Alex couldn’t see, and the next thing he knew, the room door swung closed a second after the knife cleared the threshold. Alex felt his stomach twist when he heard a faint _click_ immediately after the _thud_ of the door sliding into place, and he numbly ran over to check, jerking on the handle even as he felt the frustration slowly building when he found the door to be locked.

He turned back to the screens, torn between relief and worry as he approached the monitors. _If I can’t stop him out there, I can stop him in here._ Pulling the chair closer with a foot, he glanced up at the monitors, trying to recall the last time he’d been in the room.

_Nine keys. I pressed nine different keys for this._

Pulling the main keyboard closer to himself, he glanced up at the security camera with the silent hope that an ally remained behind the controls. “Riley, I need you to unfreeze the computer so that I can access the system and keep Stafford within the compound for a capture and arrest, and collect enough evidence against him in addition to what we already have,” he said, speaking slowly to better enunciate each word in case Riley— _no, Q, he’s Q now_ —could understand him if there was no available audio.

A moment passed in silence, and the cursor started blinking again. Alex slowly exhaled with relief as he pulled the keyboard closer to himself and typed in the final password:

Y O U R N A M E

 

Then he pressed the ‘Enter’ key.

 

ERROR

 

Alex inhaled sharply, but only tensed his jaw as he leaned forward to simply push through the firewalls. He ignored the spike of panic in his stomach when a timer set for five minutes suddenly appeared on the remaining few monitors as someone— _Q_ —helped Alex access the firewall codes on the main screen. _Explosives. Of course, he has explosives, just like last time._ “Give the order to the agents to evacuate,” he said, looking up at the security camera. “Stafford must have changed the password, this has to end now,” he said before looking back down at the screen, brows knitting together in confusion at the shoddy firewall construction— _unless, of course, the bomb timer was rigged to start with hacking, so it didn’t matter how well it was all put together. Fuck, fuck, fuck._

The timer read 04:00 by the time Alex finally got through to the main desktop.

“Well, _shit_ ,” he muttered under his breath as someone— _Q,_ he realized—helpfully pulled up an electronic map of the entire tunnel system with numerous dots marking all personnel and agents in the facility, friendly or otherwise. “Sound the evacuation alarm, or whatever they have for an alert system. Everyone has to get out of here. Contact Parisian police and tell them the area that’s about to collapse so they can start clearing out civilians,” he said, careful to look up at the camera again before he looked down to type in a few more commands. A set of instructions appeared on the screen, and he studied the text before returning back to the map to locate Stafford’s dot— _he can’t escape_. He briefly glimpsed the dot marked ‘007’ somewhere on the opposite side of the map from the command center, but then he scanned the lower portions of the map for any sign of Stafford. “Any…way…we…can…talk?” he mouthed at the security camera.

_Beep!_

The map’s colors shifted from green to red just as the speakers near Alex’s elbow flared to life, a window with the words ‘FOREIGN ENTITY DETECTED’ flashing across the screen. Alex closed the window as he said, “Riley, are you there?”

A momentary silence, and then, “ _Boss? Fucking hell, it’s good to hear you again.”_

“Yes, we can always catch up later,” Alex said, the unease growing as he continued to scan the map for Stafford. “Right now we need to get the agents to safety before this place goes up in flames. I’ll locate Stafford and keep him trapped; I don’t know if we can pull him out for a trial, he can’t escape. It will never stop if he does,” he said, eyes darting across the top half of the screen. _Where the fuck is Stafford?_

“ _Lawson and Trevelyan have cleared the perimeters as ordered with Amatore in tow, but Bond is on the line, but isn’t cooperating_ ,” Riley— _no, Q_ —said as Alex spotted a flickering dot out of the corner of his eye.

“Patch him through, I’ll talk some sense into him,” Alex said almost absently, straightening when he spotted Stafford’s dot in a cloud of fleeing personnel. “Oh, and Q. I’m about to lock the doors down, to keep Stafford in,” he said, jaw flexing as he recalled the lockdown sequence— _a-s-d-f-g-h-j-k-l-;—_ to be pressed down all at once. _Both hands…I’ll have to stay here or Stafford will escape. He will escape, and then he’ll continue with his plans. There has to have been a better answer than this. Those keys are the final nails in the coffin._

Alex remained still for a few seconds, his fingers poised over the keys for what felt like hours. If Stafford escaped, they could try again, especially now that they knew the Riddler’s identity. But then who would die next, if not Alex or James? Would Stafford only go underground and only emerge when the objective was in his hand? Who would die once Stafford took over? Hundreds of carefully selected targeted individuals; Alex still remembered the lists on Stafford’s computer files. He glanced at the timer—01:50—and realized that there could be no doubt of Stafford’s death. His throat felt dry, but still felt only an icy calm as he placed his fingers on the keys and held them down, watching as all the doors in the compound locked themselves. “And Riley?” he asked carefully, tilting his head as he heard shuffling on the other end.

 _“Yes, sir?_ ” He heard Q’s subdued tone; Q must have arrived to a similar conclusion.

“It was an honor to serve with you,” Alex said quietly, and he could almost hear the silence descending into the bullpen in London. _How many times have I heard it in person in the last three years?_

Silence. “ _And you, sir._ ” Shuffling, and then, “ _Putting Bond on the line now.”_

“Thank you.” Alex heard a faint beep, and he grinned slightly despite himself when he heard a familiar muffled curse on the other end. “James?” he asked, voice wavering despite his tensed jaw.

“ _Alex? Thank God. Where are you?”_ James demanded with enough audible relief in his voice that Alex only felt guilty. _Oh God, I’m so sorry, James. I’m so sorry that I’m leaving again._

“James, you’re almost to an exit, get your bloody arse in gear,” he said instead of answering James’s question, straightening in his chair as he checked Stafford again. He watched dispassionately as Stafford’s group of stragglers reached the door, their dots crowding against the marked lines. _He must have included this feature to confine escaped prisoners._ He let out a slow breath when the door held, watched as Stafford broke away and ran down another hall, leaving the stragglers behind. Then he released the keys long enough that the stragglers could escape. _No more innocent people have to die. Amatore is in custody; Kaminski can take care of himself._ He checked James’s dot again. “Go straight at the next junction, the door will be on your left,” he said, hoping that James couldn’t hear the grief, desperation and _fear_ edging into his voice.

“ _Where are you in relation to that exit? I can try to find you before this place explodes,”_ James said, voice steady and calm even as he followed the orders. Alex glanced across the screen and swore softly when he saw that Stafford was nearing an exit.

“Outside. Find me after,” he said instead in what he hoped was not a bitter voice, managing to hit all the keys before Stafford could yank his door open. His heart climbed into his throat when he saw James approaching his own door with forty seconds left on the clock. “James… James, I love you,” he said in a steady of a voice as he could manage.

“ _Alex—Q, I love—”_

A burst of static cut through the speakers, and Alex remained still despite the panic thrumming through his veins as he watched the timer reach 00:10.

Then, as though someone answered his prayer, Stafford’s dot finally walked away from his door as James’s dot arrived to his own. Alex released the keys, feeling a hollowed relief as James crashed through the door. He could almost see the moment that James finally realized that he wasn’t there— _he must have looked around or Q told him_ —because as he pressed the keys to lock the doors again, the dot turned around and immediately went back to the doors. _Damn it James, move away from the fucking doors_.

00:05

Out of a sudden fear, Alex closed his eyes, fingers numb from pressing the keys as his jaw tensed, refusing to utter a sound even as he felt the cold tears sliding down his cheeks.

00:01

White-hot pain, heat, white static _scream_ pierced his consciousness.

And then silent darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** Friendly reminder that there are still two chapters left.


	39. Chapter 39

 

“Who exactly was he?”

Bond almost didn’t hear the soft-spoken question, his blue eyes fixed on the rain-splattered granite in front of him and he was only barely aware of the soft whispers of a breeze brushing across the carefully maintained lawn. He didn’t even flinch when a car horn blared from the traffic-clogged London streets just on the other side of the black iron fence. Instead, he just took a step back to brush a few water droplets off his black wool overcoat before shifting his attention to his only other companion. Kaminski regarded him carefully with polite curiosity, and Bond suddenly wondered how Kaminski knew Alex to prompt such a question. _Who exactly was he?_ Alex had been the MI6 Quartermaster, protective and loyal to those he worked with, but Bond still remembered the man behind the title, the one who loved his cat and bantered with the night guard whenever he stumbled home late. “He was…” Bond began slowly, but stopped when he felt his throat close. Instead of finishing his sentence, Bond merely shook his head.

“I see.” Kaminski returned his attention to the gravestone, leaning forward as though to study the engraved words, words that Bond had memorized even before the quiet funeral only three days ago. _Alexander Bryant Winfield, October 15 1979—January 2, 2016, Dearly Missed_. Eve had insisted on keeping it simple. Bond hadn’t cared. Kaminski made a soft humming sound under his breath before shifting his attention to the marker next to the first. “And who was she?” he asked, kneeling in the damp grass as though to better read the weathered inscription.

Bond tilted his head to read the name over Kaminski’s head, catching the familiar _Emily Anne Winfield_ before he retreated again. “His mother. She passed away in December a few years ago, when he was still on probation for a failed mission,” he said, rising when Kaminski nodded to himself before standing to his feet. “You know which mission I’m referring to?” he asked warily, leaning back on a foot when Kaminski hummed a soft assent.

“Señor Ramirez will never forget the circumstances under which he came to power. He’s careful like that, remembers the mistakes others made so as to not repeat them,” Kaminski said, turning to face Bond as he drew his own jacket tighter around himself. “That’s why he decided to remain neutral when the Riddler first appeared on the stage, to avoid MI6’s wrath should he gamble incorrectly. Agents, he could see. Shadows…” he paused to glance at the first gravestone, “those, he could not.”

“Then why did he choose to help us through you?” Bond countered, careful to keep his voice down. The only other people that he could see in the cemetery were well out of earshot, but still in sight. Bond knew they had suffered enough as well; there was no reason to risk implicating them further.

“No, _I_ chose to help you. Several thousand dollars is a nice bonus to my pay for keeping an eye on the Riddler for my employer,” Kaminski corrected, shaking his head. “Whether you or the Riddler died, Señor Ramirez would lose an enemy, so he didn’t care. We just made the bet on your survival for the sake of late night entertainment,” he said, shrugging a shoulder.

“Glad I could be of service,” Bond said dryly, his gaze twitching back to the figures across the cemetery when he heard the faint cry of a child. “Are you sure the Riddler is dead?” he asked, ignoring the faint echo of regret in his chest for not having checked for a body himself in his haste to find Alex.

Kaminski nodded. “Despite managing to walk with a knife stuck in his femoral artery and losing quite a bit of blood along the way, he managed to get quite a ways before the explosions in the tunnels finished him off. I also may have, well, taken something from the corpse that he would have needed to survive,” he admitted, glancing at Bond, who frowned. “Ramirez wanted, and I quote, ‘irrefutable evidence of the Riddler’s death’,” he added as he began to turn back towards the gravel path.

Bond turned to stare at him. “When you say ‘irrefutable evidence’—” he began.

“Double-oh seven, with all due respect, I would not rather share any more details that could end in extra criminal charges,” Kaminski interrupted, inclining his head towards the grave while never looking away from Bond. “We may have been fortunate that the Riddler and Reardon were the only two fatalities in Paris, but you know as well as I do how messy these aftermaths can be. It might be best for the rest of us to keep our heads down, wouldn’t you say?” he said, glancing back towards the car park at the faint wail of approaching sirens. “I must go now, before the Americans link me to their missing ambassador.”

Bond nodded. “Twenty-four hours,” he warned.

“Give me thirty-six, and I’ll even find someone to hang for the crime. The Riddler still has plenty of surviving lieutenants for me to choose from,” Kaminski countered before turning on a heel and walking down the gravel path towards the car park.

Bond watched him leave before turning in the opposite direction, towards the small figures huddled together. He only paused long enough to briefly rest gloved fingertips on top of Alex’s headstone— _I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you better_ —before moving again, the gravel crunching underneath his footsteps.

He made sure to walk on the path as he drew closer to his destination, partially out of respect, partially to announce his presence. He could only make out three defined figures standing to the right of the crossroads, but he knew very well that the fourth person was not too far. Bond inclined his head towards the only adult in the group of three— _no, four_ —turned to face him, a sleeping toddler in her arms as slightly-older identical twins clung to her skirts. “Mrs. Lawson, do you need assistance with him?” he asked quietly, nodding once towards the toddler as both twins turned to look at him.

“Oh, no, thank you, Commander Bond, we’re all set. I do appreciate the offer,” Mrs. Lawson said, offering a sad smile before looking down at the toddler. Not for the first time, Bond was caught off guard by the close family resemblance between the toddler and his mother, while his sisters looked closer to their dead father. Mrs. Lawson hesitated, catching Bond’s attention. “If you’re looking for her,” she began slowly, “She’s with him,” she whispered, raising a brow when Bond looked past her shoulder.

“Of course, I won’t be long.”

Bond could feel them watching as he stepped off the path and in between the stones, easily spotting Tess’s kneeling form settled on the wet grass. Her shoulders momentarily tensed when he deliberately stepped on a few dead leaves still visible on the ground, but she relaxed again when he moved to the side and into her line of vision. Bond didn’t have to look at the stone to know the inscribed name— _William Fairbanks_ —but instead kept his gaze on Tess’s calm expression. She looked oddly smaller without her usual armaments, and had a couple stitches on the edge of her right eye, when she and Alec fought to keep Amatore seconds before the blast knocked them all to the ground.

Alec hadn’t been as lucky as Tess; he’d carry the burn scars on the right side of his face for the rest of his life. Amatore still managed to escape and disappear.

“I think,” Tess finally said, catching Bond’s attention, “I think I’m going to take his name now. We had decided that I would keep my maiden name when we married so that no one could use us against each other, but I don’t think that will be a problem now,” she quietly added, tilting her head as she quietly regarded the stone. “I told him that I got the bastard who killed him, we can all rest easy now. Well, he can rest easily at least,” she amended, shrugging a shoulder as Bond frowned for a moment.

“Still that bad?” he asked, and she nodded once.

“If I don’t get to Willy fast enough, the twins will start screaming too. Of course, now I have to explain to them that Uncle Lee won’t ever visit again because he made Mummy very, very angry,” she said, ignoring Bond’s raised brow when he detected the steel edge in her words, namely Lee’s name. She shook her head and said, “Was there a reason you came over? Are you ready to go?”

“Yes, but I just wanted to give you the car keys, I can take a cab back. Just leave the car at Six, I’ll collect it later,” he said, pressing the keys into her palm before she could object. He inclined his head towards her once, and said, “Mrs. Fairbanks.”

The corner of her mouth twitched, but she mirrored the gesture. “Commander Bond.”

Bond took a step back before turning around to walk back to the gravel path.

“Wait, James! _Wait!”_

Bond abruptly stopped and turned, brows knitting together when he found Tess digging through one of her coat’s interior pockets. “Before I forget, I need to give this back to you,” she said, pulling out a small flat black box. “Mum said that a nice stranger gave it to Willy to play with at his last doctor’s appointment, she meant to give it back, but she never saw the stranger again. I thought, circumstances being what they are, you might want it back,” she quietly explained as Bond took the box and opened the lid, stilling when he saw the silver zip pull in the shape of the Eiffel Tower.

Bond nodded almost to himself, ignoring the slight thickening in his throat. Alex had been ready to strangle him when he’d presented the zip pull in lieu of the Walther. He’d forgotten it not long after that mission, more distracted by the threat against Alex’s life at the time; he hadn’t realized that Alex saw fit to keep it. “Thank you, I’ll hold onto it,” he said gruffly, closing the box and slipping it into one of his own interior pockets. He started to leave when Tess cleared her throat again. “ _What_?” he asked, tampering down the flash of impatience; he suddenly didn’t want to linger anymore, even if it was for appearances’ sake.

“Just remember what I said, James. That many people would kill to have the opportunity you were granted,” Tess warned as she glanced past his shoulder. The phrase ‘ _including myself_ ’ but Bond heard it anyway. “Don’t fuck it up,” she said after a moment, careful to drop her voice.

“Duly noted.” Bond inclined his head towards her one last time before returning to the gravel path.

He didn’t look back as he left the cemetery.

* * *

“…and we still don’t know what, if anything, he’ll remember once he wakes up.”

“So there’s a chance he could have lost more of his memory this time?”

Silence. “I swear to God, double-oh seven, if you blunder this _again_ —”

“Trust me, I won’t.”

Voices, male yet soft, drifted in and out of Alex’s mind as he felt the heavy weight of sleep start to slowly recede from his brain. His body and limbs felt like individual blocks that remained pinned to the ground, and for horrible second, he thought he was still trapped under rubble in the Parisian tunnels. The two voices, slightly comforting and familiar, abruptly stopped as a faint, rapid beeping came from somewhere, audible to Alex’s ears. Footsteps approached him from either side, and he lashed out at the closest set, nearly caught off guard a second later when he felt his hand easily move and connect with another solid object. He heard a sharp curse as one set of footsteps retreated from his bedside. He tensed when he felt a strong presence on his other side, but paused when he heard a reassuring voice whisper, “Alex? You’re safe. In London.”

“James?” he croaked, impulsively opening his eyes to find the familiar blue. With a slightly shaking hand, he reached up and gently brushed his fingertips across the features he could reach, blinking as James leaned closer to press a light kiss against his forehead. The skin felt chilled underneath Alex’s fingertips, and he could fuzzily see that James’s hair was still in short spikes. _Outside recently_. “ James…you’re real,” he murmured, closing his eyes as James gently adjusted the blankets around Alex, pushing away the cold that Alex hadn’t even realized was present.

“Yes, I’m alive, you’re alive, we’re going to be all right,” James whispered, blue eyes scanning him as he seemed to hover, almost unsure of what to do before Alex tugged him closer for a small kiss to the cheek. Alex then saw the agent’s mouth curve into a smile as his head tilted to the side, and then James murmured, “Unfortunately, I can’t say the same for O’Reilly.”

 _Shit_. With a soft jolt of guilt, Alex carefully turned his head and made a noise of discontent in the back of his throat when he realized he couldn’t see well. He heard soft shuffling on his other side, and James carefully slipped a new pair of glasses onto his face. Alex grimaced when he finally spotted O’Reilly on the other side of the hospital room, studying a chart on the table as he held several brown paper towels to his nose. Several bright red spots decorated the front of the doctor’s white lab coat, but O’Reilly seemed unperturbed as he finally lowered the paper towels for a brief inspection before tossing them into the rubbish bin. “Sorry about that. And if I, er, punched you the first time around,” Alex finally said as O’Reilly washed his hands in the sink before reaching for the chart.

“No harm, no foul. My only error last time was not having backup medical staff nearby, that’s something I usually reserve for the double-ohs that end up in the operating room,” O’Reilly replied, handing the chart to James before pulling out a small torch. “Now that you’re awake, we can check on that concussion of yours. Afterwards, I will step out to change my coat, and double-oh seven will give you a status report and possibly present your two options to you. I could also do that if you prefer,” he said, ignoring the way Alex’s brows knitted in confusion. He gestured towards Alex. “Glasses up, please.”

“Options?” Alex repeated as he fumbled for his glasses, quietly relieved when James leaned forward and placed a hand against his lower back to steady him.

“What you can do when you leave my tender care,” O’Reilly said in a dry voice, the inflection provoking a fragmented memory of the two of them sitting in O’Reilly’s office, tea and biscuits spread between them as they shared complaints over various agents. Alex grinned slightly at the thought, quietly submitting to O’Reilly flashing the light in his eyes. “Well, there’s definitely improvement, but I would remain cautious for a few more days. I won’t clear you right now only because I would like to keep an eye on you for a little longer,” O’Reilly said, folding his arms across his chest as Alex lowered his glasses again. “Now, gentlemen, if you will excuse me, I’ll get some medication for Mr. Winfield here in addition to the coat. And Alex…it truly is good to see that you’re feeling better,” he added, glancing between the two of them before he stepped away from the bed. “Please excuse me.”

“Of course.” Alex watched him leave the room, only looking away when he heard the soft _click_ of the door falling into place as James dragged a chair closer to the bedside. “You’re still wet all over, where were you?” he asked quietly as James made himself comfortable.

“The cemetery. M had the idea to pretend that you had died in order to shake off any remaining lieutenants still loyal to the Riddler, and I needed to be seen paying my final respects in case _I_ was still being monitored. Of course, the gravestone can disappear if you decide you want to continue living under your original name,” James said, scooting the chair a bit closer to Alex’s bed. “The Riddler himself, along with Reardon, were the only two confirmed dead when several unused warehouses collapsed due to structural failures. The tunnels, for the most part, survived the blasts despite the explosives being closer, enabling numerous minor underlings to survive.” The corner of his mouth twitched at the thought, and Alex suppressed a weary sigh—he couldn’t even reprimand James this time for that one _._ James hesitated, and then said, “You…you’re free to start over, with as much assistance as you want.”

Alex didn’t immediately reply, just felt a quiet relief at knowing that Alec and Tess were relatively all right. He shifted his gaze from James to the closed door beyond the agent. He somehow _knew_ that James would leave MI6 if he asked, but MI6 and serving England was something James _did_ , something that wouldn’t be fair to ask of the agent especially when they both knew that James would most likely (and inevitably) return to the service. He glanced down at his hands, momentarily unable to face the agent. _Does he even want to stay with me?_ “How would I start over?” he asked after a moment.

James didn’t reply at first, just rested his hand on Alex’s lap as he suppressed a sigh. “Your first option down that path would to start over completely at a new civilian company. If you chose to return to Royal International, however, O’Reilly will provide documentation to show that you were in his care after the night Holton attacked you, and only just released you,” he said, looking down as Alex reached out and clasped his hand.

Alex glanced at James, who rested his chin on the bed’s armrest. “O’Reilly said there were two options,” Alex said, leaning back down on the bed, never looking away.

James shrugged a shoulder. “The second is to come back here, resume your duties as Quartermaster or as R. Riley is well aware that you’re being given this option, and that you would have talk to M first.” James fell quiet as his eyes closed, and for a moment, Alex thought that the agent had fallen asleep.

“Wouldn’t Riley mind having to step down?” he asked finally.

“I don’t think so. He had always thought his promotion would be temporary as long as you were still under surveillance. And you _still_ hacked successfully into the MI6 networks on Riley’s watch, M made it quite clear to him that he was fortunate that you had no ill intent behind the attack.” James tilted his head and smirked at Alex. “Between you and me, I think he’s just glad that we don’t have to report the incident to the Security and Intelligence Committee since it wasn’t a legitimate screw-up this time.”

 _And how many of those screw-ups were because of my mistakes?_ He must have winced; James’s smile disappeared almost immediately and he sat up, scooting a bit closer to Alex’s pillow. Before he could speak, Alex mustered a faint smile before reaching for James’s hand again. “I’ll need time to think about it,” he said, squeezing James’s fingers before resting their hands on their stomach.

James nodded. “Of course. Know that whatever you decide, I will be here and you have resources at your disposal,” he said, leaning closer to brush a few strands of hair from Alex’s face

Alex nodded, mouth thinning for a moment. “Thank you…but James…” he hesitated when James paused to look at him. He shook his head. “James, right now…I just don’t know if I can pick up right where we left off right now…I may need a bit of time—I want you to stay, but only if you want, I just need—” his voice trailed off as he tried to seek the right words to explain how he felt.

“I understand.” James gently squeezed his fingers, pressing them against his mouth for a brief second. “We can take things at your pace, if that’s what you want. I understand,” he murmured as he ran his thumb against the back of Alex’s hand, Alex curling his fingers around James’s own.

Alex closed his eyes, shifting his position in the bed as James gently moved away from him, his hand the only tether Alex had to him. Alex relaxed only when he felt James shift his position next to the bed so that he was resting his head against Alex’s stomach. He then swallowed, slowly recalling more tangible fragments from his life before the initial attack as he tried to rest. The Double-Os. The branch— _his_ branch. Friday pub nights with Eve. Afternoon teas with O’Reilly. Enduring the soft ribbing from both Tess and Will whenever one or both were in the branch. James’s surprise visits to quiet nights at Alex’s flat— _our home now. Our home still?_

“James?” he whispered.

“Mm?”

“Alec and Tess. Are they all right?”

“Alec will live, he got burned in the explosion, but he’ll live. Tess… she’s still hurting, she may not heal for a while. But I think she found closure, and she doesn’t blame you for what happened. We all understand the risk that comes with the job, and Will understood that the current mission could have ended with his death at any point. No one blames you for what happened in Paris,” James said quietly, remaining still when Alex opened his eyes and looked at him.

“But what if I had—” Alex began, but James reached up in that moment, breaking free of Alex’s slack grip and placed a hand on his uninjured shoulder.

“The what-if game is not a good idea, you will never be at peace if you start now,” he warned before closing his eyes again, rubbing Alex’s shoulder slightly before he retracted his hand. “Now rest. You’re probably still woozy from the medication.”

Alex snorted to himself, momentarily surprising himself. “I’m surprised you’re not kidnapping me out of Medical,” he said, wincing involuntarily at a memory of James breaking out once, wearing nothing but the white gown the doctors had made him wear.

“Because as I’ve said before, I don’t want to compromise your safety.” James replied, wrapping his fingers around Alex’s again. “Now sleep, you’re nodding off already and O’Reilly warned me that they will have to start taking you off of the morphine slowly as to not shock your system.”

“Yes, _sir_ ,” Alex replied without thinking, smiling to himself when he felt James huff with amusement into his stomach.

For the first time since leaving St. Barts all those months ago, Alex felt as though he was home again.


	40. Chapter 40

 

“Well, I have to admit that it’s good to have you back.”

Alex offered a small smile in response. “Well, it’s good to be back, sir,” he replied, leaning back in his padded chair. He was careful not to look away from M, who was examining a file out in front of him— _his_ file, Alex realized a moment later. He stifled a sigh, tempted to indulge himself a glance around the director’s office, if just to see what (if anything) had changed since the last time he was in here. The briefing for his last mission? With 001 and 002? He couldn’t remember for certain, he was still relying on the goodwill of his (new?) coworkers to remember certain protocols and events that had happened leading up to the moment where Alex lost his memory. He finally did glance out the window that overlooked London, rubbing his fingers together to keep them warm as he leaned back in his chair. He felt uncomfortable in the barely-worn suit that James had procured from his civilian flat at his request, but tried not to squirm in his seat.

“Did double-oh seven mention the few stipulations upon which your continued employment rest?” M asked, voice still as calm and unaffected as when Alex had first entered the office that morning. Alex had been expecting some sort of confrontation when O’Reilly finally released him from Medical after almost a week since he’d first woken up; M had sent a summons within twenty minutes of Alex getting dressed.

“Not in as many words, just that you had the final say,” Alex replied, bringing his attention sharply back to M. “He wasn’t very keen on discussing work-related matters, and I have to admit that I agreed with him in that aspect,” he said calmly.

M shrugged a shoulder. “I’m not surprised,” he said evenly as he closed the folder and rested his folded hands on top. “Before we begin, I want you to know that these stipulations are in place to not only protect you, but also the staff, technicians, agents, and anyone else who may be working either directly or indirectly with you. Break one, and it’s all over.” With a slight groan, M leaned back in his chair. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.” Alex tilted his head in acknowledgement, but didn’t dare look away again. He knew that employee or not, M would still not hesitate to order for his death if he posed a threat to MI6. _As long as he doesn’t order James to do it_. He briefly wondered if James _would_ do it if he ever received the order, but decided that it was for the best that no one ever found out. “What are your stipulations?” he asked instead, pushing his glasses back into place with a finger.

M suppressed a sigh, idly toying with a pen as he stared at Alex. “The first is that you go to Psych, once a week, specifically to Doctor Miller. At that point, he can adjust the frequency of your visits as he sees fit,” he explained, tapping the folder for emphasis. “I will be the only other person aside from Miller who will see the evaluation reports.”

“Of course, sir,” Alex said, barely suppressing the urge to bristle in indignation; M’s surveillance there felt invasive, but Alex knew he didn’t have much room to negotiate better terms at the moment. “And the next?” he prompted.

“Riley, although he offered to step down back to R, will retain the same clearance level privileges as you will have as Quartermaster. At the very least, it will give you someone to guide back on track without risking classified information to the wrong person,” M said, raising a brow when Alex inclined his head in silent thanks. “Quite a lot has happened in the last six months, and we can’t lose time trying to catch you up without staying a head of our enemies.”

 _Fair enough._ “Thank you,” he said, ignoring the slight raise of eyebrow that gave away M’s surprise— _most likely because he wasn’t expecting me to agree with him. Did we argue that much in the past over policies?_ “From what I’ve seen, Riley has done very well on his own,” he remarked, stiffening when M snorted in amusement.

“Between you and me, I think he’s just glad that he doesn’t have to face the Security and Intelligence Committee without a good explanation for why your hacks weren’t prevented. Now, now we can say that you were testing our systems when we face them next week for our annual check-in,” M said, stifling a sigh when Alex grimaced at the thought; he only vaguely recalled the one meeting with the committee immediately after Operation Skyfall.

He hesitated, and then asked, “Does the committee know what happened? To me?”

“Believe it or not, they actually _don’t_. Check-ins are always in mid-January, so all of this—” here, M waved a hand in Alex’s general direction—“somehow happened in between check-ins. I think we could feasibly pull off the illusion that you were here the entire time. Riley will have to catch you up since they all will expect you to do a majority of, if not all, the talking during those meetings. Then we’ll still save face there.”

“I could also say that I delegated some missions to Riley so that he could practice. _Or_ , I could just not go and Riley could say that I sustained injury while providing crucial technical support to a double-oh out on a field mission. We could pretend that I’m still in Medical,” Alex pointed out, leaning forward in his chair. “And it’s not _technically_ a lie, if you stop to think about it,” he added, shrugging a shoulder when M made a noise of assent in the back of his throat.

“We could also do that, it just can’t be Bond that you were providing technical support to. I don’t know if you remember the last meeting, but the committee was starting to get suspicious about your level of personal involvement with Bond,” he said, gesturing in Alex’s direction with a pen. “But we still have time to think about it, the meeting isn’t until next week.” He sighed, and then said, “One more stipulation.”

Alex felt the corner of his mouth twitch. “Isn’t it always one more, sir?” he asked.

M narrowed his eyes, but leaned forward and rested his elbows on the desk. “You do _not_ enable Bond or turn a blind eye to his activities without my authorization. I feel that he is still relatively unstable from this ordeal of you losing your memory. He went as far as to protect some of your possessions from _us,_ going against policies already in place, by first snatching what he could when you were brought back to London. From what I understand, he carefully returned them back to you over time, including wrapping some items in others. I had to blackmail him to get your damaged laptop back. The mobile, we already had from when you were initially brought in,” he said coldly, and Alex swallowed, but remained still despite the icy wriggling feeling in his veins. “I need to know that I can trust him to follow orders again,” he said, voice dropping enough that Alex had to lean closer to hear him better.

 _And I need to know that I can trust you again_. The words went unsaid, but Alex heard them anyway. Instead of commenting on it, he merely smiled and nodded once in acknowledgement. “Of course, sir,” he said, holding M’s gaze for a few minutes before looking down at the desk. “Is Riley aware of his duties in these stipulations?” he asked.

“Yes. I informed him personally yesterday afternoon, after Bond told me that you were willing to discuss your return to MI6. Your branch is eagerly awaiting your return, to the point where Riley started directing the re-arrangement of furniture in the Technical Services Station right as I was leaving the bullpen. I don’t know why, I didn’t _want_ to know why, so I didn’t ask,” M said, rubbing his temples as Alex frowned.

M then sighed, and then stood up, Alex scrambling to join him a moment later. “Welcome back to MI6, Quartermaster,” he said, extending a hand. “Your first order is to get your affairs in Q-Branch in order, and then contact double-oh five and ask him to kindly stop fucking around in Cairo and come home now that the diplomatic crisis is over and there is no reason to aggravate the Egyptian authorities even more. That’s more of Bond’s style than his. Double-oh four, meanwhile, is already en-route home,” he said as Q reached out and accepted the hand.

“Of course, sir. Thank you, sir,” Q said, and didn’t bother to hide his smile as M gestured towards the door in the familiar gesture of dismissal. With a final incline of his head towards M, Q then turned and left the office.

He had just finished closing the door with a soft _click_ when someone—Eve, he recognized the lighter weight—tackled him from behind, pulling him into a tight hug that caused him to squeak. “Miss Money— _Eve!_ ” he wheezed when he felt the arms around his waist tighten without warning. “Eve, I can’t _breathe_!” he managed to get out before the pressure unexpected eased and air rushed back into his lungs. He turned and grinned, properly accepting the hug from Eve this time.

She rested her head on his shoulder, and he could still feel her grin against him despite layers of fabric. “You have no idea how happy I am right now to have you back—you _are_ here to stay, right?” she asked, pulling back to meet his gaze with one of her own.

Q nodded, adjusting his glasses as he took a step back from her, edging sideways to avoid backing into the door. “Riley and I will be running the department together for now, with M making sure that I don’t enable Bond,” he said, Eve falling into step beside him as they walked towards the outer door. “I may also not have to go to the Security and Intelligence Committee meeting next week,” he added after a moment, unable to stop his own grin when Eve scowled at him.

“ _Lucky_. Now I’m _really_ going to need that drink on Friday, you always kept those meetings entertaining by always finding some embarrassing story on the speaker at the podium. You’d have to scramble if the speakers spoke and switched too quickly for you to keep up,” she said as Q opened the outer door.

“Didn’t I accidentally blackmail someone two years ago?” he asked, pausing in the threshold.

Eve nodded. “It was technically last year. Maynard, Dowell’s right hand, warned you that if you put one toe out of line, he’d use your relationship with Bond against you. You just didn’t want to admit that you got distracted in the last hour, so you told him that you’d submit a story to the _Daily Mail_ and the _Sun_ ,” she said, grinning. “Just so you know, in case you need to follow through on that threat.”

Q smiled. “Thank you, Eve.” He glanced at the wall clock and closed his eyes for a moment. “I suppose I should return to the branch, double-oh five didn’t come home when we needed him to.”

“Of course. Tell him I said hello,” Eve said, offering a quick smile.

Q nodded. “I will. Thank you, Eve,” he said, inclining his head toward her.

She made a shooing gesture. “Go on, the longer you’re up here, the more antsy your staff will get, and _that’s_ when the real problems start. They’re a hell of a lot more dangerous than a handful of interns,” she said, winking before she closed the outer door.

Q turned and headed down the familiar corridor to the lifts, ignoring the soft whispers and stares that followed him from the few other administrative offices that had their doors open to the hall. He’d been expecting the restrictions, knew that M most likely didn’t care what Bond did as long as Q himself followed all orders to the letter. He wouldn’t be surprised either if Riley was among the few staff assigned to keep an eye on him. He didn’t care. What mattered to him—to an extent—was that he was now in a better position to watch his own back should M ever decide that he was too much of a risk to keep alive after all.

And Q wasn’t the only one with a restriction. Despite O’Reilly’s professional ties to MI6 and that he was Q’s doctor, Q still trusted him enough to name him as the second mandatary with the hopes of keeping James in check. James undoubtedly already knew of the change, even without directly addressing it that morning when Q left him to M’s office. He would have seen the paperwork in time.

Q waited until he was in the lift before pulling out the burner mobile that he’d purchased in the interim before he could construct himself a new identity. Using the number he’d once forgotten, he typed out ‘ _Meet me in the branch_ ’ and sent the message, leaning against the back wall of the lift with a sigh. He closed his eyes, and didn’t move until he felt the lift come to its familiar, shuddering halt on the indicated level. He pushed himself forward again, resisting the urge to tug at the suit jacket sleeves as he approached the double-glass doors to Q-Branch. _First chance I get, I’m changing out of this_.

Up until that moment, he hadn’t known what to expect when he entered the bullpen. Perhaps it was the private hope that everyone would stay on task and he could slip right in, pull Riley aside, and quietly catch up on double-oh five’s status and contact him before James arrived to the branch. Taking a steadying breath, he pushed the glass doors opened and entered the Technical Services bullpen.

“…so when I say ‘don’t touch it’, that’s your cue to _don’t fucking touch it!_ ” R snapped when Q paused at the threshold, assessing the scene before him; R stood near the front of the room, closing what appeared to be an R&D box. Smirking, James took a few steps back— _how the bloody hell did he get here before me?_ —when he abruptly looked up at Q, straightening his spine and squaring his shoulders. He was wearing a familiar gray suit that Q hadn’t seen him wearing this morning, and could only surmise that James had evidently planned to return to the branch after preparing for his day.

“Sir,” James said, inclining his head towards Q. The gesture caught the attention of a few staff members who had been watching the argument— _and not working_ —and Q inclined his head even as applause unexpectedly broke out among those he recognized as senior staff and a few junior members who looked happy yet confused. Q smiled even as he felt his own twinge of worry; _new hires or have I not truly remembered them all yet?_ He felt a quiet sorrow at the thought; he had hoped, that with his brief stay in Q-Branch as a civilian, he would have remembered a few more faces between now and then. Apparently he hadn’t.

“Ladies, gentlemen, as you were,” he said, checking his path through the maze of desks in the bullpen before he made his way to the front of the room. “R, double-oh seven, I hope that you have both settled the disagreement that I just walked into?” he asked, raising a brow when he spotted a familiar gleam of mischief in James’s eye, R suppressing a groan before he tapped the box.

“Yes, sir, I was just taking double-oh eight’s returned equipment back to the labs for post-mission analysis and care,” R said before James could speak. “And, as a heads-up, we nearly had another security breach when you were in the meeting with M,” he added with a slight grimace.

Q frowned. _Already?_ “Have we traced it back to the source yet? What were they after?” he asked, glancing past R to where he could see Marcela fiddling with her headset.

“The personnel files,” Marcela said, looking up in that moment. “They tried, but the firewalls were strong enough to slow them down long enough for us to establish a connection. The laptop on the other end was registered to an American named Margot Phillips, but we haven’t determined if she was the operator or an innocent bystander,” she explained, setting the headset back down on her desk.

“I only told them to break the connection she had to our servers and do nothing else because I remembered that a Margot Phillips had called the Universal Exports number a few days ago, asking after double-oh six. Apparently, she hasn’t seen or heard from him since a night where he was involved with a shoot-out, and he hasn’t spoken to her since then,” R explained, tilting his head when James made a noise under his breath. “Friend of yours?”

“She was my neighbor, I’ll call her once I contact double-oh five about Cairo, M wants him out of there and on the way home.” Q glanced back across the bullpen, not missing the way several heads ducked back to work. “Perhaps not here, do you have an office I can borrow?” he asked, lowering his voice as he turned back to R.

R shrugged a shoulder, grinning slightly as he gestured to the left with his chin. “My office is way back behind the labs, but yours is still right there, sir,” he said as Q followed his line of sight to the familiar office door. “I left double-oh seven in charge of decoration, he was starting to get picky about it.”

“ _Now_ I’m worried,” Q remarked even as James shook his head.

“Nothing to worry about, I’ll show you,” James said, taking a step back to let Q past him.

Q glanced at R, who offered a salute with a grin before he picked up the crate and began to carry it back to the labs. Q, meanwhile, turned back to James, who seemed at ease for the first time in what Q felt like was months; he could still see the stress lines visible around the agent’s eyes and mouth. James offered a relaxed smile as Q walked past him towards the door with the numerical keypad. “The code has been wiped clean, you can reprogram the security codes when you are ready,” James said quietly as he fell in step beside Q. “And if Riley forgot to wipe the code, it’s one-one-three-eight. I asked Marcela when R hadn’t emerged from the labs to meet with double-oh eight yet,” he added, feigning an innocent expression when Q raised a brow at him.

“James, I’m warning you right now that I’ve been reading the security protocols to refresh my memory, including what to do with annoying agents in the bullpen. I suspect the branch has gotten complacent in your absence, and that is _not_ a reason for you and Trevelyan to start terrorizing them again,” Q warned even as he felt the handle give way— _it’s unlocked_ —and he shouldered the door open. “I will not hesitate to throw the two of you out of the branch on the first offense.”

James narrowed his eyes. “You wouldn’t.”

Q smirked. “Try me, and we’ll find out,” he said, trying not to smile when he caught James’s affectionate smile out of the corner of his eye. Shaking his head, he entered the well-lit office, pausing a few steps into the threshold a few moments later as his breath caught painfully in his throat.

It felt strange, to stand in a room that he’d been in only weeks before, only now it was bare and cold. He still recognized the sofa pushed up against the wall opposite of the window overlooking the bullpen. The desk still had the external monitor and the temperamental printer—Q instinctively recognized the serial number—which he and R had threatened to toss out on more than one occasion after it had gotten jammed for the nth time that day. A new laptop sat innocently in the center of the desk, already covered with a slightly thick stack of paperwork. The bright spot of yellow near the laptop turned out to be a new stack of sticky notes. One of the two visitor’s chairs had an unfamiliar throw pillow. He turned to James, who was now leaning against the doorframe. “James…” he began, brows furrowing as he stared incredulously at him.

“R directed the furniture placement, we tried to get it as close to how you had it before. I thought you would want to decorate the office how you saw fit,” James said, smiling unapologetically as Q grinned at him.

“Thank you…I’ll have to thank everyone for this,” he said before he turned back to the desk, brows knitting together as he picked up the stack of papers. He skimmed the first document before turning to the second page. “Q-Branch monthly rosters, the numbers for the day and night shifts in R&D and TSS must have changed in the past six months,” he said partially to himself as he set the documents down on the desk to examine the third and fourth pages. He glanced back at James, who was still watching him. “Well, you’re welcome to stay in here. I can’t promise anything interesting is going to happen since I have to assess any ongoing missions and then contact double-oh five and Margot,” he said, frowning to himself as he tried to assess his tasks for the day; M may have not been specific, but he knew even from his experiences at Royal International that tasks tended to appear at the last minute. He suspected it would be some time before he could go home— _to our flat, not a bed in Medical_ —for the night. Almost without thinking, he reached for the sticky notes, moving around the desk and nudging his chair aside with a foot.

“Please remember that O’Reilly asked for you to take it easy for the next couple of days. Including going home on time with the day staff,” James said as Q finally located a pen and began jotting a few notes down for his task list. Q heard rather than saw James approach a few seconds later, footsteps nearly silent on the carpet floor of the office. He looked up without thinking, nearly bumping noses with James. “I was just going to ask if you would like a ride home after work?” he asked finally, nose briefly wrinkling at the question. Q had to bite back a smile— _I missed you, James._

“Yes, James, I would greatly appreciate a ride home,” he said, offering a smile as he reached for James, tangling his fingers with James’s own and pulling the agent closer as far as possible with the desk between them. He hesitated, mouth suddenly dry, and he whispered, “If you want, I would also appreciate it if you stayed…just to sleep. I’m—I’m not sure if—” he stopped, unable to explain the sudden spike of fear he felt at the thought of being alone in a flat with unfamiliar security where anyone could ambush him again.

“Alex?” He looked up to see James’s concerned expression. “Alex, you don’t have to explain now if you don’t want to, but know that I will be here whenever and however you need me,” he said quietly, brushing a few dark strands out of Q’s face. “You’re strong, you made it through all of this,” he murmured as Q bowed his head so that their foreheads rested together. He thought he heard James murmur, “I love you,” against his cheek as James turned his head to press a kiss against Q’s cheek.

Q could feel the words sitting on his tongue, but he instead turned to meet James in a gentle kiss, closing his eyes as he tried to convey to James what he felt, but couldn’t say. Not yet.

Perhaps in time, he decided, he will.

_But I’m home now, and we’re going to be all right._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to thank everyone for their support and patience for the story, I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> Mistflyer :)


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